To Wear a Dragon's Skin
by creativelymundane
Summary: When Bellatrix Lestrange takes control of the wizarding world after the demise of Voldemort, the remnants of the Order keep fighting. Seven years later, Draco brings Hermione a piece of magic that might be the key to finally ending the war. Together they will destroy Bellatrix Lestrange or die trying. Violence, Implicit Rape, Sexual Situations
1. To Rescue a Snake

Author's note: This is a post Battle of Hogwarts AU. It's compliant through DH, minus the death of Bellatrix and the epilogue. It can be dark at times, so if you're uncomfortable with rape, dub-con, blood, self-harm, depression and character death then this isn't for you. Please be kind to yourselves!

This is my first fic so please leave comments! I don't have a beta, so if you notice something absolutely unforgivable, let me know.

 **I don't own any Harry Potter characters!**

* * *

Prologue

May 1998

Hogwarts

The battle was over.

Voldemort was dead, his cold and lifeless body displayed on a table in the dining hall. A silent circle had formed around the corpse, watching over the remains of the evil wizard, though none ventured too close. Hermione Granger was one of them. Each person had their own reason for their morbid observance. Hermione's thought process was unclear, even to herself. She wanted to see the monster up close and without fear; she wanted to watch the stillness in his chest to make sure he was truly dead; she wanted to prove to herself that she could move forward with her life, make a new start, and that her friends would have the same opportunity. And really, there was nothing else for her to do.

Harry was asleep in his old bed in the Gryffindor Tower dorms. Neville and Hermione had supported him up the stairs when he had collapsed in the Great Hall. Madame Pomfrey had declared him exhausted, both physically and magically, but well enough considering what he had just been through. After tucking him under the sheets and gently removing his glasses, Hermione had pressed a kiss to his forehead and allowed herself to feel grateful that her best friend was alive, while her greatest enemy was dead.

Ron was grieving with his family near the corpse of Fred. They were huddled together in a large group, George at its center. Their anguish was palpable. Hermione had hovered outside the circle for a minute, unsure of what to do, and uncomfortable that she didn't feel the same despair. She was terribly upset by Fred's death, but not any more so than by the death of Lupin or Tonks. She had lost her parents, but it was a loss of her own choosing, and they were still alive and safe somewhere in Australia. The family didn't need her, and she felt uncomfortable witnessing such endless grief, the depth and breadth of which she could not truly understand.

If she was being honest with herself, Hermione felt a bit lost. She was in a daze, the adrenaline from the fight long since gone, but her mind unable rest. She felt the sting of a few shallow cuts, and the ache of bruised and over-used muscle. Her left shoulder was most certainly sprained. The fingers still gripping her wand were weary, but she took comfort in the familiar sensation, unwilling to relinquish her hold in case this was all a dream. Staring at the pale and unmoving corpse of Lord Voldemort, Hermione fought the desire turn the dining table into a funeral pyre- just to be sure.

Unable to stand the sight of the monster before her any longer, Hermione turned away and found herself face to face with a young Hufflepuff girl. Jane Trevors? Travers?

"You should eat," the girl said, her big eyes filled with compassion. She held a basket filled with various fruits and a bit of bread. When Hermione only looked at her without moving, the girl pressed a large orange and an apple into Hermione's hands. "Eat. You'll feel better." The girl walked to the next hapless and dazed student, leaving Hermione staring at the fruit in her grasp, perplexed. Her mind was trying to form a coherent plan of action. The wand would have to be put away. Should she sit and eat? Stay standing? Apple first, or orange? Throw them to the floor and continue doing- what?

She was clearly in shock, she decided in a detached way, and the thought of eating anything made her stomach roil.

That was when she spotted the Malfoys. They sat huddled in a corner, the shadows of the setting sun providing them some anonymity. Only those seated closest to the family could see them clearly and those few were throwing them furious glares. Hermione wondered what they were still doing at Hogwarts. The battle had ended hours ago. She could see Draco Malfoy's dirty face from where she stood. He looked as dazed as she felt.

That distant gaze turned questioning, then disbelieving, then faintly fearful as she approached. The elder Malfoys both reached subtly for their wands, which neither of them possessed, but Hermione held her hands up, filled with fruit, in order to reassure them. She had no violent intentions towards them. Whatever their choices had been up to the final battle, they had not fired a single curse for the duration. Instead, they had run into the fray, wandless, searching desperately for their son. Hermione admired their loyalty to their family, if nothing else. The younger Malfoy had kept Hermione and her friends from Voldemort's grasp at the Manor by lying for them. And now that the war was over, she had little desire to further old enmities. There was a voice at the back of her mind questioning her actions. Why should she care if they were alone and uncomfortable? It didn't matter. She had something to do.

Lucius Malfoy looked at the apple outstretched in Hermione's hand as if it were a snake. After a moment, Narcissa reached out and took it with a nod of thanks. Hermione made a shooing motion at Draco Malfoy, which he correctly interpreted by scooting over. He looked utterly bewildered by her behavior, and if she had been more in control of her own mind, she would have found the situation just as puzzling. As it was, she sat down, peeled the orange, then broke it in half, offering one side of it to the boy next to her. There was not much room on the bit of rubble they shared, so he and Hermione ended up with one side of their bodies pressed together as they ate in silence.

The angry glances of the people around them turned disbelieving. Hermione wanted to smirk. She had no illusions about any future interactions with the Malfoys. They would land on their feet, and return to the pinnacle of Wizarding Society. Hermione would finish her schooling, and do her best to make the world a better place. When they passed in the halls of the Ministry, Draco Malfoy would not stop and ask her about her life, and she would not send him a card at Christmas. But perhaps they would nod to each other politely, and remember a time before the war ended, when they had hated each other for reasons that no longer mattered. It had to start somewhere. Maybe that moment was _this_ moment, when she publicly shared food with her former enemies in hope of a better future.

The orange was gone, the curious eyes of their observers had found other things to occupy, and Hermione was suddenly consumed by the need to sleep. She wondered if she could make it to the Gryffindor Tower. When she stood up on unsteady legs, she found Draco Malfoy standing next to her with a steadying hand on her arm. A well-mannered product of his upbringing, she supposed. Narcissa stood as well, and inclined her head regally.

"You should rest," the woman told her. "Draco can escort you back to your dorm."

Weariness was tugging at her limbs. "That's not necessary," Hermione replied, her voice rough. She gave them a tight smile and tottered away, determined to find a real bed before she collapsed.

"Do you think she understands the significance of what she just did?" Narcissa Malfoy asked her son when the Muggle-Born was well away. Nobody seemed bothered by their presence any longer, as if the tacit acceptance of Hermione Granger was enough to put their collective minds at ease. Kingsley Shacklebolt was watching them closely, as was Arthur Weasley, and Minerva McGonagall. The future leaders of their world had witnessed the entire exchange.

"I doubt it," Draco responded, watching Granger's curly head disappear from the Hall. The girl had the power to imprison them with her testimony, to socially destroy them with a word, but instead, she had publicly declared her support for a family that had been responsible for much of her pain. Whether she knew it or not, Hermione Granger had just saved them. "I don't think she's capable of cold-blooded political manipulations."

"We are in debt to that girl," Narcissa declared.

Lucius scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"We will repay the debt when we are able," Draco decided as if his father hadn't spoken. "And in full."

Neither of them could have predicted the change that swept across Wizarding Britain, or just how complicated their account with Hermione Granger would become.

* * *

Chapter One: To Rescue A Snake

 _September, 1998_

 _12 Grimmauld Place_

 _The Floo roared to life and Percy stumbled out._

" _They've killed nearly everyone," he gasped. "The Aurors are being pushed back."_

" _So the Ministry has fallen again," Kingsley closed his eyes._

" _We never really got it back, did we?" Harry was slumped in his chair. "I should have been there! I could have helped."_

" _It's a slaughter Harry." Percy was shaking. "We were so outnumbered. We didn't expect so much resistance."_

" _I still don't understand how she survived." Hermione felt the panic rising in her chest. This was supposed to be over. They had won. Hadn't they?_

 _Arthur helped his son to a chair. "We just didn't move fast enough to clear out the Death Eaters still in positions of power. We thought they would disappear after the Battle."_

" _Guess they had an inkling their new leader wasn't really dead." Ron was picking at his food. "So what to do we do now?"_

" _We keep fighting."_

* * *

Malfoy Manor was heavily warded. Hermione and her team Apparated just outside the family's protections, for they had to wait for the heir himself to allow them through. She spotted him walking towards the wrought iron entrance a few moments after they arrived, his strides purposeful, but not hurried. The fact that he had not been waiting for them was irritating, but watching him lope carelessly across the white gravel of his front walk, as if his rescue squad wasn't out in the open and exposed to attack, was infuriating.

 _Take your time, you arrogant arsehole_ , she silently fumed. It was like seeing a ghost from her memories take form and dance around. He was taller, his shoulders were wider, but his pointy, pale ferret face was exactly the same.

"This is fucking surreal," Seamus muttered as Malfoy drew closer. "No matter what Shacklebolt says, I just can't believe that twat's been working for us the whole time."

"If you say that one more time, I'll hex your bollocks off," Oliver swore.

"He's certainly not in a hurry," Luna observed.

The gate didn't open so much as turn to smoke as Malfoy walked through it, reforming when he had passed.

"It's safe to pass through now. Get inside," he snapped. Two seconds and he was already acting like an arse, as if they hadn't been waiting on _him_ the whole time. She had only taken a single step when they were ambushed.

The first hex hit Seamus's left shoulder, spinning him around. Hermione and Luna ducked instinctively, letting several bolts of sinister magic fly over their heads. The wards absorbed the bolts with a loud crack, shooting white sparks into the air. Oliver had an unconscious Seamus under his arms and was dragging him through the gates as Luna followed, covering them with a _protego maxima_ charm. Three red-cloaked wizards belonging to the Legion of Blood stepped out from the trees, and Hermione started slamming them with curses, throwing as many as possible to keep them busy. A stinging jinx slapped her leg, immediately causing welts under her trousers. A mild repulsing charm blew past her ear, causing her head to ring. No Unforgiveables. No particularly violent curses. They were wanted alive.

A hand clamped down on her arm and yanked her back. She was reaching for the knife at her belt when she looked up into the face of Draco Malfoy.

"Move it, Granger," he shouted, casting curses at the enemy over her shoulder. She quickly shook his hand off.

With one last look at their attackers, she sprinted through the wards, feeling the cold magic slide across her face and arms. Malfoy was directly behind her. She could see Luna and Oliver just ahead, levitating Seamus into the house. The three Legion soldiers continued to shoot magic at the gates.

"How did they know we were coming?" she huffed, out of breath. She was having a hard time keeping pace with his long stride. Her leg burned horribly.

He shook his head angrily. "I'm guessing Bellatrix set up alarms around the property to alert them to Apparitions."

"So I suppose your secret's out," she muttered. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Will the wards hold?" she asked.

"An hour, perhaps," he answered. "Less, depending on how many wands show up over the next few minutes."

They caught up to Luna and Oliver in the massive foyer. Hermione looked Seamus over for signs of injury while he floated gently. No blood, no bruises; alive, but unconscious.

"What hit him?" she asked Oliver.

He shook his head, "I'm not sure."

"A sleeping jinx, I think," Luna offered. "It was blue and sparkly. And they obviously wanted us alive."

"Let's hope it's as simple as that."

"You can take him to the library," Malfoy said. "Follow me."

It was like having an out of body experience. There was an indescribable strangeness about her old enemy calmly leading her through his home, the home in which she had been held captive nearly a decade ago. When Kingsley Shacklebolt, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and the only true Minister of Magic, had summoned her a few days ago for a mission to extract a spy, she had shrugged and appeared as requested. When he explained that the spy was Draco Malfoy, she had gaped at him. When he further explained that the man had _requested_ to be a spy for the Order seven years ago, Hermione had been dumbfounded.

She had known him as a self-satisfied prick, a prejudiced arsehole who had tormented her and her best friends for years. The Malfoys were a family made up entirely of blood purists, and had been for as long as such a thing had existed. He had conspired to kill Dumbledore, and let cold-blooded killers into the school to torture children. There had been a brief moment at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts when Hermione had been ready to forgive the Malfoys and move on, but then they had run back to the darkness the moment Bellatrix had reappeared. Now she had to rearrange her mind to accommodate a Draco Malfoy who had worked for the Order in secret the whole time. It was all very unsettling.

Almost as confounding as Malfoy fighting for the Order was the scene that greeted her when she entered the library: there were five people seated in very expensive furniture around a lovely table, taking tea next to a crackling fire.

"What the bloody buggering hell?" Hermione heard the exclamation fall from her mouth as she stopped short.

Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini stood up to assist Malfoy as he attempted to clear a huge marble desk for Seamus's levitating body, removing the items one at a time and setting them gently on the floor. Luna watched the process for precisely fifteen seconds before sweeping her wand over it and sending everything crashing to the floor. The men sighed in resignation and tried not to step on the remnants of the Malfoy's escritoire. Pansy Parkinson and an older woman who could only be her mother screeched at the mess.

"There was a seventeenth century vase on that desk!" Mrs. Parkinson objected.

"Sixteenth century, in fact," Narcissa Malfoy corrected her, seemingly unconcerned as she sipped her tea.

"Throwing yourself a bon voyage party, Malfoy?" Hermione was furious. She thought she might know why this group of former Slytherins were waiting for them so serenely, but she wanted Malfoy to admit that he was trying to foist his friends and family off on the Order.

"Don't pretend to be an idiot Granger," he quipped, kicking pieces of broken clock under the desk. "They're coming with me."

There was a split second when she prayed he was joking.

"Have you gone mad?" She could hear her voice getting high pitched with strain. Blaise and Theodore retreated to the sitting area. The tea service had resumed, as if there weren't dozens of Legionnaires outside systematically dismantling the manor's protections. "Five more people? These were not the terms of you extraction."

"I've changed the terms."

"You've—" Her anger choked her. The sensation of tightly leashed magical rage danced across her spine.

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow contemptuously. "You've got sparks shooting from your hair."

"Stop upsetting her, dear," Narcissa said from her throne.

Hermione was asleep and this was all a nightmare. It was the only logical explanation.

"We can't take them all back to Base, Captain." Oliver was idly spinning his wand across his palm and taking a casual stance in front of his unconscious friend.

"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious," she spat out.

"Stun Malfoy and let's go," Luna suggested, eyeballing Narcissa, who continued to sip her tea.

Hermione aimed her wand at Malfoy's throat.

"I only came for you," she hissed at him. "Don't make this difficult."

"I knew it," Theodore Nott hissed. "You owe me fifty galleons, Blaise."

"She hasn't left us yet," Zabini objected.

There was a percussive noise that sounded like cracking granite and shook the walls.

"That'll be the wards," Blaise murmured, standing.

"We all go, or none of us do." Malfoy was suddenly very serious. There was danger rolling off him as he fingered his wand. Luna shuffled forward until Hermione felt the woman's presence at her back. Seamus stopped playing with his wand and stood taller.

"I don't take orders from you," Hermione snapped.

That was when the glass in the library windows shattered, and they were all accosted by sharp and glittering shards.

"Well, I suppose tea time is over," Mrs. Parkinson sniffed, gingerly setting her cup down upon the crushed glass littering the antique coffee table.

Narcissa stood and approached Hermione, her hands held out passively. "I would appreciate it greatly if you would allow us to accompany you, Miss Granger."

Malfoy frowned, looking from his mother to the woman she had just so casually addressed. Hermione studied the woman she hadn't seen in five years. She looked a bit older, and much more tired. Narcissa Malfoy would never look anything less than regal and cold, but as she stood in her partially destroyed family library, there was a shadow of fear around her eyes.

"Will I have paid my debt?" Hermione asked through clenched teeth as she felt something like shame wriggle in her gut.

"You have no debt to me," Narcissa answered. "I am asking as a mother and as a close friend of these people, who have all risked themselves at one time or another to benefit the Order."

When Hermione flew away from the Lestrange Mansion on a broomstick five years ago, she never thought she would see this woman again. Unwilling to think about the possibility that she might, in truth, owe Narcissa Malfoy her life, and aware that their enemies were quite literally at the gates, she made her decision.

"You three don't have wands," she observed, speaking to the women in the room. "They've got the trace on them?"

Narcissa nodded. "We destroyed them this morning."

"I don't know what the bloody hell is going on here, but we don't have time for chit chat," Malfoy snarled. "Are we leaving or not?"

"You three, destroy your wands immediately." The men at whom she had growled broke their wands. They both looked a bit green as Malfoy collected them.

"We'll have to side-along." Hermione spoke to her team. "Goose Chase before 'Keying to the safe house. Keep your tails clean."

Both conscious members of her strike team stood, immobile. Oliver looked almost mutinous, and Luna was glaring at Narcissa. The library door splintered. They were inside the Manor.

"Move!" she barked.

Oliver tossed Seamus over his shoulder, grabbed Pansy Parkinson and Disapparated immediately. Luna took a hold of Mrs. Parkinson and Theodore and jerked her head at Blaise. He took the hint and planted his hand firmly on her arm.

"Don't worry," Luna said dreamily, but with a glint of menace in her eye. "I hardly ever splinch my side-alongs."

Mrs. Parkinson let out a terrified squeal before they disappeared.

A flock of red and green curses flew through the broken windows and the room exploded in a storm of parchment and book pages. The whole room then promptly caught fire. Malfoy threw the broken wands into the flames. The door flew off the wall, destroying the lovely marble desk on which Seamus had slept. What a waste of a beautiful library, Hermione thought as she grabbed Narcissa's arm and reached for Malfoy. She Disapparated the instant his fingers closed around hers.

Hermione was fairly certain her group had escaped a tail, but she very diligently cracked in and out at six different locations before stopping on a hillside in Ireland. She and her parents had stayed in the village below when they backpacked the summer between second and third year. It was remote, with only goats as witnesses to the haggard witches and wizard blinking out of thin air. Her hands were shaking.

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow at her obvious fatigue, as if side-along Apparition with two people over six locations was easy.

"You're injured." He pointed to her leg, where the irritated and bubbling flesh could be seen through a small tear in the fabric.

"Very astute," she snapped. She wanted a salve and a nap. Springing five possibly dangerous people on her was just the right thing to put her in a foul mood. She spotted the bright green bottle half buried in the side of the hill.

"Any reason we had to endure that lovely romp through bloody _all of Britain_?"

"We don't keep our Portkeys on us in case we're captured," Hermione answered, pulling the bottle out of the ground. "If they managed to cast a _revelio specialis_ on the spot where we Disapparated, they can sometimes see the intended location. It's hard to do, and they have to be in pretty close proximity, but it occurred frequently enough that we had to adapt. If we quickly hop around to enough places, we can usually confuse the spell."

"Is that how you avoid it?" Of course he knew about their methods, but it was still strange having a conversation about fairly secret intelligence with someone who had a Dark Mark burned into his arm.

"It must be exhausting," Narcissa commented, brushing her travel-mussed blonde hair out of her face.

The Portkey was a ball-point pen that refused to slide out of the glass bottle in which she had placed it hours ago. She could feel the stares of the Malfoys burning through her neck. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Grabbing it round the neck, she brought it down onto a nearby rock, shattering the glass. Their fingers overlapped hers as they took a hold of the pen.

"Portus," she whispered.

Hermione had never grown accustomed to the sickening sensation of being grabbed behind her navel with an invisible hook and yanked through space. Her vision blurred and swirled, and then she was standing inside a tool shed. It was dark. She dodged around the lawn mower she knew from experience was on the floor. Behind her, she heard Malfoy curse when he tripped on it. Swinging the door open, she stalked into the overgrown yard, not caring if they followed her. They did.

Oliver was waiting for them on the porch.

"Started to get worried." He was chewing on a piece of wheatgrass.

"Get inside," she ground out as she passed him.

Hermione spoke into the tip of her wand, sending her Patronus to Shacklebolt with an update on what had happened. She knew he was going to be furious, but she hoped he would see that she had made the best decision under the circumstances. He hadn't told her why Malfoy needed to be removed from his home and brought under the protection of the Order, but risking five operatives to bring in one man was out of the ordinary. Malfoy was important.

Seamus had been settled in a room upstairs. When Hermione joined them, she learned that Luna had cast a revealing spell and found that he had indeed been hit with a sleeping charm. Relief swept through her. The Order couldn't afford to lose a single talented soldier, no matter how big his mouth. Luna and Hermione left Seamus to recover and joined Oliver downstairs where he was glaring at the surprise additions. They had gathered in the kitchen, patiently waiting for instructions.

"You are all now captives of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione began without preamble. "Until you undergo a Veritaserum interrogation, you will not be allowed to leave the safe house. If you pass the interview to my satisfaction, you will be taken to our base where you will submit to a Legilimency exam."

"And if we don't pass your interview?" Pansy wondered.

"Then I'll restrain you and transport you to base as a prisoner."

"Yes, yes," Mrs. Parkinson waved impatiently. "But where are we sleeping tonight? Surely not in this hovel?"

There was a moment of silence in which Hermione managed to tamp down her disbelief. The look of utter despondency on the woman's face which followed the silence helped immeasurably.

"Do try to keep up mother," Pansy snapped.

"You'll have a bed upstairs," Hermione told her. "Which you will have to share with your daughter. There are only four rooms. You'll all have to share."

Mrs. Parkinson paled.

"Regretting your insistence to come along, Persia?" Narcissa inquired sweetly.

Once the small wounds sustained during the rescue had been treated and Oliver had assigned rooms and rations, he attempted to explain such Muggle oddities as electricity, plumbing, and television.

"No magic here, I'm afraid. Though I don't imagine we'll have to worry about that, seeing as you have no wands." Oliver grinned as Theodore Nott bristled. "We want to blend in," Oliver continued. "The magic does go pear shaped when it's around electricity. Don't want a walking, talking toaster wandering into the street and giving us away."

Only Pansy Parkinson showed an interest in the Muggle technology, and only with regard to the coffee maker.

"If I can't have coffee I will kill someone," she said, fingering the now healing cut she had sustained on her cheek. "It would be a shame to endure such a flawless rescue, only to end up chained in a dungeon."

Hermione was absolutely certain she was being insulted.


	2. To Be Certain

creativelymundane

A/N: I'm super excited that I've got some followers!

Thanks to believerofmajick for my very first review: you're awesome!

* * *

Chapter Two: To Be Certain

 _October, 1998_

 _Malfoy Manor_

" _No fucking way!"_

 _Draco sighed quietly and tried to keep his face neutral. It was a skill he had picked up in the last two years. He remembered a time when every feeling would be reflected in his features. It wasn't long after the Dark Lord took up residence in his house that his mother had begun training him to control his reactions. There had been a moment after the Battle of Hogwarts when he found himself picturing a life where he could smile and grimace and query without fear. That had lasted only a few days. A mere twitch of weakness was all Bellatrix needed to start casting Cruciatus left and right._

" _Do you want this to be your life?" He looked Theo in the eye. His best friend was terrified, and rightly so. "It's been quiet since they took the Ministry, but you know she's going to start killing people again."_

" _I think my life might be much shorter if I go along with this."_

" _Not necessarily." Thank Salazar for Blaise. The boy's cool head had kept everyone from losing it on more than one occasion. "She doesn't trust us. We won't be in the inner circle. We won't be watched like we were before."_

" _Have you lost your fucking minds?"_

 _Draco snatched his friend up by the shirt. "We have to do something! This is going to get worse. You think she's just going to forgive us for our betrayal? You parents walked out on Voldemort. Mine practically raised their wands against him. She's playing nice right now, but at some point, she'll strike back. We need to take her out. For fuck's sake, Theo! We have a chance to end this once and for all. We just need the stones to do it."_

" _Fine!" Theo wrenched himself away. "Contact the Order. But when we've had our skin peeled off and hung out to dry, you can remind me of your noble intentions!"_

* * *

They ate a light dinner of dried beef and bread. Luna, Oliver and Hermione had chosen to eat in the living room, keeping their eyes on their captives. The prisoners seemed completely unaware of the tension, settling into the dining room and holding a very calm and polite conversation over their soldiers' rations. The six of them made their own oasis of excellent table manners and cool countenances. Hermione resented it greatly.

There were a few dishes to clean and Oliver hovered over her protectively while she worked, and then continued later as she sat down at the table. It was dark when Hermione banished him back to the living room, reminding him that she was fully capable of handling herself. He settled into the ratty old couch and started watching a Muggle movie. She could see the flickering light of the television from her seat in the kitchen. Since all the rooms upstairs were taken, he would eventually stretch out and fall asleep there. Luna preferred to sleep outdoors anyway, and had curled up on the porch swing with a book and a blanket.

Hermione remembered installing that swing four years ago after she and Luna had been rescued, after both of them had mostly recovered, and Luna had bluntly stated that not even orders from Kingsley would compel her to sleep where she couldn't see the sky. They had both laughed the kind of manic laughter that was always accompanied by tears, and then gone to the local Muggle hardware store. There was another swing on the front porch of Hermione's house back at base camp.

Hermione sat at the kitchen table with a cold cup of tea, a piece of parchment and a quill. The burn on her thigh was slathered with cream and throbbing dully. Her body was aching and tired, but her mind was racing. It was a common problem. Many nights she would stare at the ceiling of her room, letting her worries and plans run amok in her head. She might drift in and out of sleep until dawn, when she would sit up and make pages and pages of notes. Sometimes it was complete gibberish, but if she failed to push the restless energy through a quill and onto parchment, she would never rest.

She was considering making Luna share her swing when the sound of footsteps intruded on her thoughts. She glanced up to see Malfoy standing just inside the kitchen. He was looking at her.

"Do you need something?" It came out raspy with fatigue—and sarcastic.

"Water." He answered after a moment.

"Glasses are in that cupboard. Water is from the tap."

He nodded and pulled a glass down. The old tumbler clinked against the faucet as he filled it expertly, as if he had been using Muggle plumbing his whole life. His shoulders were wider than she remembered and he moved with the kind of ease that came from being in good shape. She decided angrily that he always had enough to eat, unlike her people, who had to scratch for every morsel. He had grown incredibly tall in the seven years since she had seen him last. That last year at Hogwarts he had been only a few inches taller than her. Watching him take a drink, she wondered if she would fit under his chin. She shook the image away, blaming her strange thoughts on her shock at finding out Malfoy was one of the good guys.

The whole thing was surreal. The adult Draco Malfoy, a secret spy for the Order, was leaning against her sink. The scent of soap reached her, and she could see from his soot-free skin that he had showered. He watched her, crossing one well-dressed ankle over the other as he sipped tap water from a cheap glass. He managed to look completely out of place in the dingy kitchen—with his shiny shoes and damp platinum hair—and yet completely at home. Glaring down at the dirt under her fingernails, she was suddenly very aware of the grit in her hair; she could feel the invisible, dried sweat on her skin.

"Everyone settled?" she asked, sounding rancorous even to her own ears.

Malfoy nodded and sat across from her. He was still looking at her. She watched his eyes flicker from her hands to her face, up to her hair then back. It took a conscious effort on her part not to run her hands through her hair to smooth down the short curls she knew were standing on end. Shorter hair was less of a hassle, but the strands tended to form a halo of frizz around her head when she didn't tame them properly. She slid back in her chair and tried to match the directness of his regard, pulling a mask of indifference down over her face.

"Have I congratulated you on killing the hairy animal that used to live on your head?" he asked politely. She couldn't refrain from touching strands that now ended at the nape of her neck. "What did you feed that thing anyway?"

"How's your Dark Mark?" she retorted. "Is it just a pretty tattoo now, or has Bellatrix taken up your reins in place of Voldemort?"

Malfoy's pale face darkened. They glared at each other in silence.

"You know," she broke the silence. "When you and your family slithered back to Bellatrix after the Battle of Hogwarts, I was sure that it was the last I'd see of you."

It had felt safe. There was chaos, to be sure, but the Ministry was limping back under the leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Department of Magical Law Enforcement had assured the public that Death Eaters were being rounded up daily. It had been utterly unforeseen when Bellatrix Lestrange had led a coup within the Ministry, overtaken the Wizengamot, and established a new world order under the Legion of Blood. The woman was supposed to be dead. They had buried her in an unmarked grave. But somehow, she had swept into the Ministry, very alive and enraged, and had painted a target on the back of every member of the Order.

Not long after, the Malfoys had appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet at Bellatrix's side. Hermione had taken it quite personally when she heard that they had run headlong back to the newly reformed Pureblood army. She had been incredibly disillusioned when she remembered the way she had defended them against Ron and Harry. She had been so sure of their new loyalties. Looking at him now, it was difficult to put aside those feelings of resentment, though she now realized they were unfounded.

"Unfortunately for me, I knew it wouldn't be the last time I'd have to be blinded by the holy light of the Golden Trio." He took another casual sip.

"So you planned to spy for the Order from the beginning?"

"The _beginning_. That's a rather broad concept." He cocked his head at her, as if considering whether she was intelligent enough to understand his reasoning. "It became apparent soon after my father forced my mother and I back into the arms of those insane criminals that the situation was unacceptable."

"So you've been on our side the whole time?"

"Your side?" he mocked. "Do you mean the side of Light? Of foolhardy honor and virtuous truth? I always knew you were disgustingly optimistic, Granger, but I never thought you were naïve as well."

"I hardly hold any illusions about your character, Malfoy."

"Good."

"You may have been working for the Order, but you're still a Malfoy," she spat the name out as if it tasted bad. "You never do anything that doesn't fit into your personal endgame. You still let them brand you with that symbol of evil. I've heard stories about you over the last seven years. You've done horrible things."

He looked at her impassively, but the muscle in his jaw was twitching.

"However," she continued. "You've also been relaying information about Bellatrix Lestrange to the Order of the Phoenix, at great risk to yourself. Some of that information saved lives."

"Like you said, it served my purposes. There was nothing selfless about it. And I took very little risk, if we're being honest."

Hermione huffed out a breath of doubt, wondering what he was trying to accomplish with this conversation. Why sit here and try to convince her that he was selfish and unrepentant? The Gryffindor inside wanted to believe that under all that derision was a heart of gold, but the cynic cautioned her against such fanciful ideas. There was no such thing as altruism in the world of Draco Malfoy. Even so, Hermione felt a flicker of relief that she may not have been _entirely_ deceived by him. This obsessive need to be right really was a like disease, she thought.

Malfoy leaned back and cocked his head. "Tell you what, I'll try not to murder you all in your sleep, and you'll try not to let your Gryffindor heart bleed all over my shoes."

"I suppose I'll find out about your murderous past soon enough. I'll be at your debriefing."

"Think so?" He grinned at her maliciously and took a sip of water. She returned her gaze to her tea cup, not all confident in her statement. Shacklebolt might just slam the door in her face.

Malfoy's face turned serious. "How do you know my mother?"

She had been expecting the question, but the look of cold fury was a surprise. "Why don't you ask her?"

"I did. The words were very polite, but ultimately I was told to fuck off."

"That's good advice."

"I assume your relationship was of the prisoner-jailer variety, since Loony Lovegood seems to know her as well." It appeared that Malfoy had little knowledge of the time Hermione and Luna had spent at the Lestrange Mansion. It was a relief. She had no intention of speaking to Malfoy about that part of her life. Ever.

"You could always ask Luna," a small smile revealed itself when she spoke. She would love to see Luna slice Malfoy into pieces. "I'm sure she'd be happy to regale you with tales of the Legion torture chambers."

The skin next to Malfoy's eye ticked. They were both quiet for a moment.

"I was in France that year." A well-manicured fingernail tapped the side of his glass. He was no longer looking at her.

Hermione frowned at him, confused. "And what difference does that make?"

"None at all." It was said quietly.

She was intensely uncomfortable with the idea that Malfoy may have some personal regret about her abduction and imprisonment. They regarded each other in silence for a full minute before Hermione stood from her chair. She was a little shaken by the entire encounter. She put her cup in the sink, and silently left the kitchen. Luna hardly even grumbled when she snuggled into the swing with her.

* * *

A tingle on her tongue was the first clue that the Veritaserum had taken effect. A moment later, Pansy's fingers and toes were buzzing pleasantly. It was similar to that feeling she got right before she drank too much firewhiskey. Not quite drunk, but not quite sober. She took a deep breath, letting her lungs fill with air. Regulating one's breathing was the first step in fighting off the effects of the truth potion. The next step was to keep her focus on something other than the questions being asked. Pain worked quite well. Pansy quietly slipped a pin into her palm, ready to press it into her fingers if she needed a way to distract herself from the need to answer.

She was the first of her group to undergo this farce. Any Pureblood worth their wand would have built up a resistance to the potion early in life, and would know how to defend against its effects. This particular draught was quite powerful, Pansy realized as her head swam. She poked herself with the pin and the feeling faded a bit. Despite her precautions, she had little desire to perjure herself. If there was ever a time to be honest, this was it. She only hated having to appear vulnerable to Hermione Granger of all people. She hated appearing as a supplicant, as a refugee, running from the choices she had made at a young age. It felt like begging. It felt like a request for forgiveness. Her insides squirmed.

Rather than alerting her interrogator to her newly candid state, she merely sat back and studied the woman across the table. Hermione Granger had changed greatly since Hogwarts. The woman sitting across from her had cropped her bushy hair closely around her head, and it now fell in a halo of tight brown curls. She was dressed in a black short-sleeved shirt and dark green military style pants with half a dozen pockets. There was a wand holster strapped to the inside of her arm, the end of an ugly scar peeking out from behind the leather. There was another holster across her chest that kept a spare wand tight against her ribs. A rather large knife sat on her belt. The effect was entirely tactical and Pansy hated the way it made her feel ornamental and useless in her witch's robes.

If someone were to draw a stark comparison between herself and this woman, Pansy imagined she would come up short. Hermione Granger was a warrior, a leader of the rebel cause. Pansy was the daughter of a very rich man who had paid handsomely to keep his family out of the clutches of the Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War. She had never seen a battle field, never had to raise her wand in self defense. Draco had tried to explain the horror of Voldemort and his followers, but it wasn't until Bellatrix took over that Pansy truly understood. Suddenly, paying was no longer an option, and Culpeper Parkinson had been forced to take the Mark and the Parkinson's home had been turned into another base of operations for the Legion. Bellatrix became a family friend, along with several other evil and violent wizards. She survived the best way she knew how: by acting stupid and staying out of the way. It seemed cowardly now that she was face to face with her old school enemy.

Even Loony Lovegood had been changed. She was leaning against the kitchen counter behind Granger, idly flipping one of the five knives she had strapped about her person. She was dressed the same as Granger, but with bright red trainers instead of boots. Her long blonde hair, almost as pale as Draco's, was pulled back from her face in hundreds of tiny braids and tied together with what appeared to be a shoelace. Years of living around temperamental wizards with homicidal tendencies had sharpened Pansy's ability to read people. The same dreamy amusement still hovered around mouth; she still walked with a skip in her step, but it was her eyes that made Pansy shift in her chair. Lovegood's huge, blue orbs stared at her, unblinking.

"Feeling alright?"

The solicitous question from Granger burned right through Pansy's stomach like acid. She felt the magically induced desire to answer.

"Quite."

The former Gryffindor pulled the wand from her side and spoke into the tip. It lit up with purple light, indicating it had started recording. She picked up a quill and scratched at the paper in front of her after laying the wand on the table between them.

"Veritas session with Pansy Parkinson, as requested by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Order member Hermione Granger interviewing, witnessed by Order member Luna Lovegood."

Brown eyes looked up.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Ms. Parkinson."

Pansy remained silent. _Fuck off,_ she thought.

"Are you a member of the Legion of Blood?" Granger began.

"No. But I did argue against that rather unfortunate name."

Granger raised her eyebrows at Pansy's flippant tone, but did not object.

"Are you intending to spy on the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Not if it requires sneaking around. Afraid I haven't packed my sensible shoes."

"Do you wish to harm any member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"No, thank you. Sounds rather messy." _Though a black eye might compliment Granger's ridiculous outfit rather well._

"Tell me why Purebloods are superior to Muggle-Borns."

Now they were getting to it.

"It has to do with culture," Pansy decided to be honest, figuring Granger would instantly mistrust anything too kindly said. "There's obviously no inferiority in magical ability, no matter what zealots like Bellatrix like to scream. Muggle-borns are given a wand just weeks after discovering that magic exists. Purebloods are raised with magic, we are steeped in it. Most Purebloods understand the basics of magic before we even get on the Hogwarts Express. There is a fear of magical power in Muggle-Borns because they are raised to think such things are childish and maybe even shameful. Purebloods feel easy and have a way with magic that you will never see with a Mudblood."

Lovegood had shifted at the slur, but Granger didn't bat an eye. "Oh excuse me," Pansy apologized facetiously. "Habit."

She realized she was probably pushing her luck, but the Veritaserum was making it difficult to keep the rancor out of her voice. If they wanted the truth, then by Salazar they would get it.

"So should Muggle-Borns be subjugated?" Granger continued.

"Why bother?" Pansy sighed. "It seems like an awful lot of trouble for something so completely insignificant. Purebloods had most of the money and a good chunk of the power _before_ Voldemort started this horrible crusade. Besides, if we killed every Muggle-Born and Half-Blood there would be few witches and wizards left."

"Why did you leave?" she continued. "Your father is a highly respected Death Eater. Your family is wealthy and lived comfortably."

"Comfortably?" Pansy hissed. "You don't know a damn thing."

"Enlighten me." Granger was watching her carefully. Pansy realized she was probably giving herself away. The Veritaserum nudged her to answer. She hesitated, pressing her thumb into the needle, letting the pain distract her brain.

"Anything you say here will only be heard by me, Luna, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. I understand your reluctance, but you must answer the question."

"I don't want your _understanding_ ," Pansy spat. "I don't need your pity."

The curly haired woman straightened her back and glared. "Good! Because I don't feel sorry for you at all. You're my enemy until you prove otherwise, and frankly, I'd rather send you back to Bellatrix than have another mouth to feed, especially an ungrateful one. If Malfoy had not made your lives the condition of his rescue, I would have left you all there to rot. But since I chose to take you instead of stunning him and Apparating out, we must now go through this horrible invasion of privacy. The sooner we can be done with this, the better. So answer the damn question."

Pansy wanted to vomit, to purge this horrible feeling. It would be better if Granger was a raging bitch, if she treated them like dirt. They had all expected it, and now being faced with the compassionate eyes of an old enemy, Pansy wasn't sure what to do. She decided to tell half the truth.

"My father recently decided to arrange a marriage for me."

Blank looks greeted her pronouncement. She rolled her eyes.

"In Pureblood society, a witch's virtue is highly valued. She's expected to be— _intact_ —for her husband. I've been, shall we say, _less-than-virtuous_. And no matter how much my betrothed claimed to love me, I decided I'd rather not face his wrath when he found out I've been popped. Nobody crosses Amycus Carrow."

Granger's eyes shot to Lovegood's when the name of her betrothed was spoken. The crazy blonde stared back as if frozen, and then stalked out of the room.

"Know the name, do you?" Pansy laughed humorlessly as her interrogator returned to her notes. "Have you seen the Peeling Curse in action?"

Her golden skin turned green. "Anthony Goldstein was caught by that one," she said, swallowing. "I had to pick his wand out of the pile of flesh."

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Pansy demanded, disgusted. "Some kind of Gryffindor memorial ritual?"

"We don't have a wandmaker anymore," Granger explained. "And it's hard to go shopping in Diagon Alley these days. We collect every wand we can."

Pansy shook her head to dispel the image. "Well, that was his invention. If that's not enough, I've seen what he does to his prisoners. When Draco told me what he was planning I didn't need to think twice. I told him it would never work, but he said he'd rather be roasted by Bella than leave me behind."

The quill scratching along the parchment stopped short. That last part had slipped out of Pansy's mouth unintentionally. _Shit_. Draco was going to kill her.

" _Don't give her anything more than you have to,"_ he had said. " _And don't talk about me at all. I want to keep that ugly swot in the dark for as long as possible_."

She stabbed her thumb again. _Get it together._

"Are you willing to undergo a Level One Legilimancy Exam upon arrival at our base?" Granger was continuing.

"Of course." The lie rolled of her tongue. _That's better._ She would do it, but she was far from willing.

"You will be required to submit to the exam readily and without the protections of Occlumency, of which I assume you have some talent."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I never did have a knack for that particular type of magic." Another lie. Purebloods were taught occlumency from infancy. "Too honest I suppose."

Despite her fib, she had no intention of trying to fake the exam. She doubted she could hold out against a skilled Legilimens, so trying to occlude her mind when her future hung in the balance seemed counterproductive. Granger looked at her, as if sensing her deception.

"That concludes the interview."

Granger touched her wand and the light dimmed.

"Just so we're clear," she continued, shuffling papers. "A level one exam will only explore memories of your actions directly related to the Order, and only over the past few years."

Pansy was surprised to feel tension leak out of her body. Apparently she had been somewhat anxious about it.

"Nothing deeper is required to ascertain your loyalties, in my opinion." Granger stood and shoved the sheaf of parchment into a portfolio. She attempted a smile but it manifested more as a grimace. "We all have memories we'd rather keep to ourselves, yeah?"

Merlin's balls, she hated Hermione-Fucking-Granger.

Pansy heard the buzz of low voices coming from the garden, so she headed out the back door. The day was warm, but pleasant, with a light breeze that rustled the trees surrounding the property. The Muggle safe house was nearly invisible through all the vegetation, but Pansy could just spot the bricks of another home behind them. It was strange to walk into a back garden and not feel the whisper of wards. She felt exposed here, with no magical protections and no wand. Her mother was seated on the swing just outside the door, flipping through a magazine.

"Muggle fashion plates are so tedious," the older woman said. "These stationary pictures are useless. How can they fully appreciate a frock if the model doesn't move about?"

Pansy hummed in agreement as she descended onto the gravel path. Blaise and Theo were seated in chairs around a small table near the steps. They were playing a game of what looked like chess, except the pieces had to be moved by the players instead of responding to commands.

"All right?" Theo asked, moving his rook. "How was it?"

"Tiresome."

The Malfoys were also seated, facing each other on wide garden benches over a pot of tea. Draco leaned back with a cup in his hand, his foot on the opposite knee and his arm across the back of the bench. Narcissa was seated upright with her hands in her lap. They looked at ease, except that Draco was tapping the porcelain with a fingernail, and Narcissa had not touched her cup at all. Pansy stopped next to Blaise and listened.

". . . won't tell me how you know them."

"I hardly _know_ them, dear—"

"—don't prevaricate, mother. Hermione Granger thinks she owes you something and I need to know what the bloody hell she's talking about. Obviously you've a shared history of some kind."

"I've answered as best I can."

"Was it at the Mansion? Did you interact while she was being kept there?"

Narcissa sent her son the kind of icy glare that had stopped lesser men in their tracks. Draco didn't take the hint.

"If you are hiding something that could harm my ability to negotiate with these people—"

"I hope you are not implying that I don't understand the gravity of the situation in which we find ourselves. I would never intentionally keep something secret that would harm anyone here."

"I don't know if it could be harmful if you don't tell me. If you've done something in the past—"

"Done something?" Narcissa interrupted sharply. "How dare you think that I hurt those girls in any way!"

Draco looked down at his cup.

"It is not my tale to tell, Draco. If neither Miss Lovegood nor Miss Granger wishes to speak about it, then it's not my place to do so."

"I just don't want to go into enemy territory without all the facts."

"Enemy territory?" Pansy broke in. "I thought they were the good guys."

"Well they aren't friends, are they? They don't think of us as allies and until we know where we stand, we'll treat them as potential enemies."

"Do you really think she's that devious?" Blaise spoke up. "Why go through the trouble to rescue us if she only intends to unveil some horrifying secret about your mother later on? If she wanted us dead she would have left us at the manor."

It made perfect sense to Pansy. Draco shook his head, still seething.

"Once we're on their turf, we won't have many choices if they decide to get aggressive." Theo moved his knight. "Check."

"Exactly!" Draco exclaimed. He was losing his composure and it made Pansy very nervous.

"Just how worried should we be?" she asked.

"Did you think this would be easy?" Draco leaned forward, glaring at her. "I'm a Death Eater. We are all part of the Legion as far as they're concerned. Until they decide to trust us, we need to step carefully and stick together."

Pansy wondered if she had left the prison of an arranged marriage to a psychopath for an actual prison. When she thought about it, a stone cell was still preferable.

"Would you like some tea, Pansy?" Narcissa asked. "I'm afraid it's quite cold."

Had she been reduced to drinking cold tea? A warming charm tickled the tips of her fingers and she rubbed them together. There many spells she could cast without a wand these days.

"We also need to follow the rules." Draco had noticed her twitchy hand and looked at her unsympathetically. She huffed, sat down next to Narcissa and drank her cold tea

"How did it go?" Draco pierced her with his grey eyes.

Pansy sighed. "Well enough. She didn't immediately clap me in irons, so I guess I passed the test."

Draco scoffed. "Of course you passed."

Lovegood trotted down the stairs then.

"It's your turn, Blaise," she said, all evidence of her former agitation gone. Blaise stood up and offered her his arm as if they were courting. She smiled absently at him and declined.

"I'm afraid I have an aversion to touching strangers," she said.

Blaise was momentarily paralyzed at her candor, but he recovered in time to follow her back into the house. He shot a look of confusion over his shoulder. Were all Order members so hideously blunt or was it just the mad ones?

"Absolutely mental," Theo muttered.


	3. To Go Home Again

creativelymundane

 _AN: Hello all!  
_

* * *

Chapter Three: To Go Home Again

 _March, 1999_

 _The Burrow_

 _Hermione picked up a charred piece of wood and studied it closely. It was hard to imagine that a few lengths of lumber were all that was left of the place Hermione had always considered a second home. It had been her only home since she had hidden her parents in Australia, safe and blithely unaware of their daughter's existence. Now what did she have? A few Muggle safe houses and the ruins of Hogwarts?_

" _She wouldn't leave."_

 _George was standing next to her, tears making tracks through the soot on his face. Hermione hadn't cried in months. She wished she could, if only to relieve the horrible pressure building behind her ribs. It made her heart ache every time it pumped. Hermione thought that if anyone deserved her tears, it would be Molly Weasley. And yet, she had none._

" _Mum!" Ginny was screaming somewhere behind her, clasped in Harry's arms. The sound throbbed against her ear drums._

" _Let's kill all of those bastards," Hermione took George's hand and squeezed it. "Shall we?"_

* * *

The Portkey was an old shovel propped up against the side of the garden shed. Early the next morning, it would light up with a bright blue glow, and not a moment too soon. The first day at the safe house had been bad enough, but Kingsley had kept them there an additional two days before giving her permission to activate the Portkey. He had also sent his Patronus with strict instructions to leave Malfoy out of her Veritaserum sessions. The smug look on the blonde man's face was infuriating. In the end, she gained almost nothing from her interrogations of the other five captives. The Purebloods were obviously inoculated against the truth serum. What bothered Hermione most was how well they had hidden their tolerance. If she hadn't already been suspicious of their ability to withstand enhanced questioning, she probably would have assumed every word they said was true.

Hermione was seated on the back steps of the safe house. By the flickering blue light of a Muggle bug lamp, she examined her choices carefully, cigarette dangling from her fingertips. It was a filthy habit she had picked up a few years ago to calm her nerves. She inhaled a warm cloud of smoke as she argued with herself. They were all hiding their motivations for defecting, of that she was certain. The safest option would be to bind Malfoy as a prisoner and cut the others loose. Her conscience poked her. They had all helped the Order in one way or another over the years. They had done nothing to indicate that they had nefarious plans, and leaving them behind would certainly condemn them to death. Or worse.

Oliver and Seamus- who had woken after the first day- had made their opinions clear. It was too risky. None of them could be trusted. Bringing them home would mean putting everyone in danger. Hermione thought that many of her people back at Headquarters would agree with their assessment. But something was nudging her. The practical side of her hesitated to call it intuition, but the feeling she often got in her gut had saved her life more than once. And now it was telling her to trust these people.

Luna stepped out the back door and sat beside her. There was plenty of room on the step for both of them, but Luna squished herself next to Hermione, their sides pressed together. Neither of them was overly fond of casual physical contact since their time as captives at Legion Headquarters. Luna could hardly stand to be touched by anyone but Hermione. After a moment, Luna reached over and plucked the cigarette out of Hermione's hand and took a drag.

"I know you've already decided to take them back with us," she said, the smoke tumbling from her mouth. "But be careful."

"I'm always careful, Luna."

The blonde woman had nodded in agreement. "You also like to see the best in people. Some people don't warrant that kind of faith."

Hermione sighed. "I know. I've just got a hunch."

Luna hummed her acceptance. They were silent for a few minutes, listening to the crickets singing. "What do you think he has?"

"More than just information." Hermione had thought about it a lot over the past few days. Even momentous information could be passed through the usual channels. Whatever it was, Hermione was sure Malfoy was bringing with him and end to the war, one way or another.

"I think he's carrying something. An object." Luna passed the cigarette back to Hermione. "He keeps touching his jacket as if he's reassuring himself it's still in his pocket."

"Whatever it is must be important."

"I hope he loses it so we can throw them all the dungeons. He's useless to us without it."

Hermione considered that for a moment. "If whatever it is can help us, I'm willing to put up with them."

"Are you willing to publicly take their side? Because you're going to be their only advocate once we get back. I can count on one hand the number of people who will be willing to let them stay."

A deep, gusty sigh worked its way up from her belly. "I guess I'll do what I must so we can use whatever he has to our advantage. If that means angering a few people, then so be it."

Luna chuckled with no trace of amusement. They both understood that Hermione had stepped into a huge pile of dragon shit when she decided to take in the Purebloods. There was nothing stopping Kingsley from stringing every one of them up by their thumbs, and stripping Hermione of her rank in the process. The hardened witch inside her with years of battlefield experience was confident that Kingsley would never risk losing her when it came to fighting the enemy. She was far too valuable. But she still felt a deep sense of dread when she thought about having to explain her actions to the Minister of Magic, especially when she could hardly explain them to herself.

"He watches you." Luna's words brought her out of her reverie.

"Who does?"

"Malfoy."

Hermione scoffed. "He's probably waiting to see if I change my mind and throw them all in the dungeons." Hermione chuckled and ground the last of the cigarette into the dirt.

"Perhaps." She sounded unconvinced.

Hermione decided not to pursue it. She realized that Luna probably felt the most uncomfortable of anyone. Even Hermione had felt a moment of panic when Theodore Nott had thrown off his cloak to reveal the dragon rampant symbol of the Legion of Blood pinned to his robes. He had been a high level security officer for some of the Death Eaters, and even though he never fought in pitched battles, he had admitted to participating in smaller skirmishes. Malfoy had stalked forward and ripped the solid gold pin from the man's chest immediately, but the small moment had been enough to set Hermione's heart racing with adrenaline. Luna had fled the room, her wand clutched in her fist.

"I suppose we'll know one way or another eventually." Hermione sighed deeply.

At exactly 7:00 am the next morning, Hermione found herself squashed between Luna and Malfoy as ten people simultaneously took a hold of the old shovel's handle. There was much grumbling and shifting while they waited an awkward few moments for it to activate and pull them away. Luna's braids tickled her face. She felt Malfoy's body along her back, his breath in her hair. She had been right; she fit under his chin perfectly.

That was the last thought she had before being yanked forward. She clenched her eyes shut against the sickening sensation, then opened them to the bright morning light over Hogwarts. The circle of travelers broke up instantly, the shovel clattering to the ground. Hermione's back felt suddenly cold. She stood in place for a moment and tried to calm her aching stomach. Closing her eyes again, she inhaled the scents of home: dirt and vegetables, stone and water, smoke and trees, and felt some of her anxiety fade away.

Malfoy's voice broke her reverie. "What the bloody hell have you done, Granger?"

Hermione smiled and opened her eyes. Seamus and Oliver were talking quietly with the two scouts posted at the 'Key point named Thomas Collins and Cooper Lively. They were young, but competent. Luna had wandered away already, making her way towards the castle. The former Slytherins were lined up at the crest of the hill on which they stood, gaping at what used to be the foremost wizarding school in the world.

"Impressed?" Coming to stand next to him, she crossed her arms and took in the view with pride.

The castle had been rebuilt not long after the battle, but it looked much as it always did. The land around it, however, had been turned into a thriving rebel base, the living headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. The land to the south and west had been cleared of trees to make way for fields of vegetables and a small fruit tree orchard. The nearby lake, with its endless underground source of water had been partially rerouted to irrigate the crops. Hermione herself had asked the permission of the merpeople to reroute the water, and had helped McGonagal translocate the giant squid to a very remote lake in Finland.

Next to the kitchens was the pasture for cows, goats and a few horses as well the chicken coops. To the north was a small village, complete with a village green, built for members whose families needed asylum from the Legion. It backed up to the Forbidden Forest, and it was not unusual to get a glimpse of the resident centaurs. To the east, and just visible beyond the castle from where they stood, were the training grounds they had integrated around the Quidditch pitch. The entirety was kept safe under a dome of nearly invisible wards and an atmospheric charm that would crack with white light when birds passed through.

"It's a fucking farm." Pansy Parkinson sneered.

"It is," Hermione confirmed defensively. "It keeps us fed. Gringott's isn't dealing with us anymore and we're running short on candlestick holders and paintings to sell for supplies."

Mrs. Parkinson choked.

"You're completely self-sustained?" This from Blaise Zabini.

"Not completely. We still purchase flour, rice, parchment, fabric and other such staples from Muggle companies."

"I knew this place was more than just a headquarters for the Order," he said smugly.

His interview had revealed his position as a logistics officer among Lestrange's ranks. Before the war, he had been a financial prodigy, and had continued to use his business acumen to keep the Legion of Blood running smoothly. He had fed Malfoy information on supply shipments and store houses, and in turn, Malfoy informed the Order if one was particularly vulnerable to attack.

Malfoy had yet to say anything since his original exclamation of disgust, but stood with his hands in his pockets, taking in the view.

"Welcome back," she said sweetly.

He glared at her. She shook her head and turned to see Dean Thomas approaching. He marched straight up to Seamus and pulled him in for a tight hug before beginning his tirade.

"Why is it always _you_ that gets hit with the bloody curses—"

"It wasn't that bad, Shay—"

"—every time I let you out of my sight—"

"—not _always_ me, anyway—"

"—break your bloody wand—"

"Get a room!" Oliver shouted over the argument. "Take this lover's quarrel elsewhere!"

Seamus looked embarrassed, but Dean planted a loud kiss right on his mouth before dragging him away.

"The Minister is waiting for you, Cap," Thomas said, approaching.

Hermione nodded with a feeling of dread. When she turned back to the people she had brought, not a single one of them appeared anxious. Malfoy looked bored. A single platinum eyebrow arched at her, and she realized she had been studying him again. It would be truly excellent if she could stop staring at the blonde prick for more than five minutes at a time. It was like looking at a puzzle she thought she had solved years ago, only to realize she had the picture all wrong. It was purely academic, but he always seemed to catch her at it.

"Follow me," she said.

She started down the hill, the wet grass slippery with morning dew.

"How many people are here?" Blaise asked curiously.

Hermione thought about it for a moment.

"One-hundred and seven single soldiers barracked at the castle. Around fifty Order of the Phoenix officers, either in the old professors' quarters or in the village if they've a family. With families and the odd refugee, we've got nearly three hundred people."

"And only one hundred and fifty are useful in a fight?" Malfoy stalked beside her, his lips turned down. Hermione ignored him. She had no intention of fueling his derision.

The ground was only slightly wet, but the Parkinsons picked through it as if it were quicksand, both of them going on about silk shoes and muddy hemlines. Hermione wondered how they would react when they were assigned their labor tasks. At Hogwarts everybody worked. No exceptions. She wondered even of what they might be capable. There were certainly no dinners to plan, no dresses to try on. Pansy groaned and stopped to adjust her shoe.

"Will you two please stop your bloody whining?" Narcissa snapped.

Nott and Zabini looked at each other with wide eyes and then grinned.

"I've never heard that word from you before, Mrs. Malfoy," Nott chuckled. "Well done."

Pansy glared at him, hopping on one foot as she adjusted one patent leather pump. "Fuck you, Theo."

"I _have_ heard that word from _you_ , however," he continued.

"I told you to wear sensible clothes, and you show up in designer slacks and bloody kitten heels," Malfoy admonished, neatly avoiding her hand when she tried to grab a hold of him for balance.

"Don't think I won't hex the lot of you," she cried as her heel sunk into the dirt.

Hermione slowed as they approached the fields. There were two or three people working near the tree line but no sign of anyone else. Oliver caught up to her and they looked at each other in consternation. Hermione spotted a tall form jogging towards them, his canvas trousers coated in flaky mud.

"Neville!" She shouted, waving.

"Morning." Neville slowed and fell in between Hermione and Oliver. "Got a bit worried when you didn't come straight back."

"We had a few surprises waiting for us." Oliver glared over his shoulder at the group following behind them.

"I see that."

Hermione lowered her voice. "Where is everyone?" Malfoy had fallen into step with them on her other side. She glanced at him with a frown, but he ignored her look as if he wasn't intentionally listening in.

"Outside Kingsley's office."

"I suppose they all know about our new additions?"

"You suppose correctly." Neville sounded positively distressed.

"How bad is it?" Hermione watched Neville clench his jaw as they all passed through the courtyard. There were still very few people around. "Tell me, is there a mob waiting for us?" She was only partially joking.

Neville sighed. "Word spread about who you were bringing back. Not everyone is happy."

"Should I be worried?" She saw Malfoy's hand brush his side, looking for a wand no doubt.

"I don't think there will be any _actual_ violence. Ron's a lot of hot air, you know."

"Oh for Merlin's sake," she muttered.

If Ron was leading this movement of discontent, she could be assured that it would be rowdy. The bloody hot head could have waited to talk to her, instead of jumping to conclusions before he knew all the facts. They walked through the halls on their way to Kingsley's office without any more conversation. A pair of wizards stopped in their tracks as the group passed. One of them took off the way he had come; the other spit on the floor. Hermione stopped short and turned to face the man. She didn't recognize him.

"Did you just spit in my direction?"

He snapped to attention. "No captain, ma'am. Sorry captain."

"Clear out before I imprison you for disrespecting an officer."

He complied, a sneer of disgust on his face. She could hear the faint sounds of discontent float down the hall. Shit.

"What is going on?" Narcissa demanded.

"There's a bit of a welcoming party up ahead." She did her best to sound unconcerned.

"I'm guessing they're less than happy?" Pansy sounded tired.

"Didn't think the Weasel had it in him." Malfoy looked unconcerned, but his empty wand hand was twitching.

"He can be rather excitable," she replied under her breath, running through various scenarios in her head. Deciding on a course of action, she raised her voice. "So we are going to form a bit of a phalanx. You five without wands go two at a time in the middle. Oliver, you're at the back, Neville and Malfoy to the sides, and I'll be at the head."

"That's all well and good, but I don't have a wand either." Malfoy snapped.

"You do now," she said, pulling her spare wand from her side and offering it to him. It was oak, thirteen inches with a dragon heart-string core. She didn't remember the wizard she had taken it from. He looked at her as if she had just punched him in the gut. Neville cleared his throat nervously.

"Take it before I change my mind," she demanded, poking him with the end.

"Seeing me with a wand might make it worse," he warned.

"You're one of us whether they like it or not," she argued. "Whether _you_ like it or not. Might as well get used to the idea." She paused uncomfortably. "Also, I need the back up."

He took it. They formed up in pairs as instructed, Theodore taking hold of Pansy's hand, Persia and Narcissa locking elbows, and Blaise just behind them. Hermione looked at Malfoy, her spare wand held negligently in his hand.

"Just defensive charms," she warned him. "Nobody gets hurt."

He looked down at her. "Yes Captain, ma'am."

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Let's go."

They turned the corner and there, blocking the entrance to the office of the Minister of Magic, was a crowd of angry wizards. The group shifted like a swarm of bees, ready to descend upon their enemy. When they caught sight of the group walking towards them, they began to mutter, then to rage. Hermione saw wands raised above their heads as they shouted their discontent.

"Murderers!"

"Death Eater Scum!"

"Curse them!"

Hermione put her wand to her throat and cast a _sonorous_ charm. "STAND DOWN AND DISPERSE."

The noise quieted. A few days ago, if you had asked Hermione whether a few words from her could clear a room, she would have replied in the affirmative. She was one of the highest ranking and most respected officers within the Order of the Phoenix, and frankly, she felt like she had more than earned the respect of her soldiers. As she stood in front of this angry mob, however, the smallest bit of doubt pricked her. She had said the words that should have sent them scrambling to the sides of the hallway, making room for her to pass, and yet they all just stood there, glaring at her.

"I SAID STAND DOWN!"

The order echoed down the hall, rattling the doors. One by one, the men in front of her parted, making a narrow path through which she could pass. They group behind her followed closely while the mob hissed and spit their displeasure. Hermione stepped to the side of the door and let the group of Purebloods pass by her as she watched. When Oliver had passed through the door, she addressed the crowd again, this time with her normal speaking voice.

"I understand your concern with the recent additions to our ranks." There were grumbles and boos. "You don't have to trust these people. You just have to trust me. I would never make any decision that would put the people under my charge in danger. I consider Hogwarts to be my home, and the people here to be family. Having said that, I don't need your approval to make decisions about who we trust, and who we recruit. You have no right to form a mob and threaten violence in the halls. Go back to your work." Hermione paused. "If anything like this happens again, I'll throw you all out on your arses, make no mistake."

The door shuddered in its frame when she slammed it shut behind her. Immediately, her eyes went to the tall redhead leaning negligently against the Minister's desk. Hermione prudently tucked her wand into its holster and took a deep breath.

"You have some nerve, Ronald Weasley."


	4. To Cause a Scene

A/N:

Just wanted to say thanks to Music96 and annaea3077 for their reviews. They make me happy! Thanks to Kyonomiko for taking the time to review each chapter: You are awesome. Sending everyone elevated hand slaps.

* * *

creativelymundane

Chapter Four: To Cause a Scene

 _April 1999_

 _Muggle London_

 _Where the bloody hell was his contact for the Order? The man was fifteen minutes late and the rain was coming down with a vengeance. It wouldn't be long before Draco was missed back at the Manor, and he had no intention of fielding questions about his whereabouts. His Muggle coat was barely keeping the water out. He felt a drop of water trickle down his neck and decided he was through waiting. That's when he saw the man leaning against the lamp post across the street, a red kerchief tucked in his back pocket. He hated all the little identifying signs, the code words. It almost felt like he was waiting for a blind date. 'Meet me at the pub. I'll be wearing a blue shirt and holding a red rose.'_

 _Draco made his way over and stood next to him, hands tucked into his trousers._

 _The man glanced over at him. "You must be mad to wear that jacket in this weather."_

" _How do you know I'm mad?" Draco felt relief at hearing the code. He was tired of being wet._

 _He responded with the correct answer. "You must be or wouldn't have come here."_

 _Suddenly, the man flipped his hood back and grinned at Draco. Harry. Fucking. Potter._

" _Fine day for spying, isn't it Ferret?"_

* * *

Longbottom and Finnegan had beaten a hasty retreat once they realized that a fight was brewing. So much for the Gryffindor courage. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood behind his desk, leaning forward on his arms with dark hands splayed on the scarred wooden surface. Ronald Weasley was less obviously dangerous as he leaned a hip negligently against the outside of the wide desk, his wand out, but not aimed at anyone in particular. The two goons to his left were angry and just waiting to do violence. They all towered over the woman currently seething with righteous indignation, who appeared to neither notice nor care that she was outnumbered. She had stalked into the room after dispersing the crowd in the hall and immediately began laying into the men waiting for her.

Draco stood in the back of the room next Pansy. He clucked his tongue quietly. "Temper, temper, Granger," he muttered.

"Think she'll hex any of them?" Pansy was positively excited by the ridiculous display going on in front of them. Theo and Blaise were behind her, waiting for the fallout with impatience. Both Draco's mother and Persia looked positively bored.

"I was nearly spit on, Ronald!" Granger punctuated her words with finger jabs. "What the hell have you done?"

"What have _I_ done?" The wanker was too self-assured. He looked almost amused at her ire. "A better question to ask yourself, 'Mione."

"A fucking mob? Have you lost your mind?" Granger seemed to be ignoring Shacklebolt completely.

"Why do you think I had anything to do with this?" The ginger shrugged. "People are upset, Hermione. They want their anger to be known."

"I don't believe for one minute that it wasn't you stirring the pot. That disgusting, smug look on your face is evidence enough."

"Calm down, Ms. Granger," Shacklebolt said lowly. She took a breath and relaxed her shoulders, but didn't take her eyes off Weasley.

"Did you know about this, Kingsley?" she demanded.

"I was not aware of the severity of the situation until just a few minutes ago." Shacklebolt was glaring daggers at Weasley. "I was also unaware that the level of discontent had become so dangerous."

Draco had never met Shacklebolt in person, but his opinion of the man was sinking further by the minute. He was _unaware_ that a mob had formed outside his office? No wonder they were losing this war. Draco had a feeling that the results of this confrontation would directly relate to the safety of his people. Politicians were always overly concerned with popular opinion, and if the gathering in the hall was any indicator, the soldiers here at Hogwarts were none too happy about their presence.

Weasley smiled smugly. "I think it's just the right amount of discontent, considering what's at stake here. We've got fucking Death Eaters among us."

"They're on our side, you idiot. Or didn't you know that part?" Granger shot Draco a look of apology. Was she actually worried that he would be offended? He resisted the urge to sneer at her. None of them needed her pity.

"Also, none of us are technically Death Eaters except for Draco," Theo piped up.

"That's . . . not helping." Blaise elbowed him.

Weasley plowed on as if none of them had spoken. "Our side? Even if Malfoy's been spying for us, that doesn't mean he's not dangerous." The Weasel had some sense. Draco was shocked. "And he forced you to bring his friends? Looks like an invasion to me." Even if he was a bit overdramatic.

"Don't be so ridiculous!" Granger looked at the man pityingly. "This is just another example of you flying off the handle before you know all the facts."

His face darkened. Suddenly, he wasn't so amused. "How could you bring them here, 'Mione? The one place we have left that's safe!" Weasley stepped towards Granger menacingly, towering over the much smaller woman. There was a glint in his eyes that Draco recognized. The hair on his arm stood straight up. Draco found himself at her shoulder suddenly, his borrowed wand held at the ready. Weasley had been more than happy to ignore Draco's presence until that moment. He noticed the length of wood gripped in Draco's hand and his eyes widened in horror.

"You're arming them as well?" He raged. "HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?"

The two men behind Weasley shouted and drew their wands. Time seemed to slow down as Draco's killer instincts woke up. He observed their movements and battled with himself. The dark voice in his head told him to use the borrowed wand and kill the threatening three men. The more rational part of his brain immediately smothered those homicidal thoughts. They would all be thrown in prison and possibly executed. He studied the goons, deciding they were not much of a threat anyway. It was unlikely they would try to murder Draco with the Gryffindor Princess standing close enough to be harmed, no matter how angry they were. He decided to swallow his pride and drop the wand. It clattered when it hit the floor.

In the handful of seconds it took him to come to this conclusion and raise his empty hands in front of him, one of the men had shoved forward, while the other stepped back and to the side, leaving Weasley in the center. It was a common attack position. Draco felt the killer instinct laugh at him. _Told you so_. Even so, he was sure they wouldn't attack. There was more shouting, which Draco ignored as he flung his open hand over his shoulder, ordering Theo and Blaise to stay put. He didn't have to look back to know they would be responding to the violence hanging heavy in the air. The last thing he needed was a full melee in the Minister's office. He was also reluctant to reveal just how much damage he and his people could do without the use of a wand.

Suddenly, the man in the back jabbed his wand in the air, and it spat green sparks across the room. Granger had apparently cast a small shield charm in front of herself the moment she had realized what was happening. The sparks skittered off her charm harmlessly, but Draco had no such protection and was hit directly in the face. He curled away from the impact with a grunt and then swung back around. It wasn't a fully formed hex, but Draco felt the skin around one eye already starting to swell and darken. He heard a snarl work its way up his throat. The killer instinct was winning. Then Granger was standing in front of him, her feet planted widely and her wand held out horizontally in front of her, ready to cast another shield charm.

"Drop your wands!" she shouted.

Weasley looked dumbstruck. As he stared at Granger's back, Draco could admit to a similar feeling. Only his mother had ever physically put herself between Draco and danger. Now this woman, who had every reason to hate him, and hadn't even spoken to him in seven years, was offering herself as a shield. What kind of game was she playing? Then it occurred to him that she did it because she was a good person, not because she wanted something. The idea made his skin crawl.

Shacklebolt was standing with his arms crossed, a thunderous look on his face. He didn't seem terribly bothered by the accidental hex, and Draco wondered if such things were common practice. "That. Is. Enough."

The man who had thrown the hex looked positively ill. "Sorry, Cap," he muttered to Granger. "This new wand don't work like the old one did. Wasn't trying to hurt you."

"Sod off, Amos."

"There will be no more of this kind of violence in my office," Shackelbolt said quietly. "Or anywhere else on Hogwarts grounds."

Harry Potter chose that moment to enter the office. He stopped short. He was breathing heavily and leaning on his cane. "What the bloody hell is the going on?"

"A sorry display of incompetence by two of our best leaders." Shacklebolt folded his arms.

"Right." Potter straightened as best he could. "You two," he pointed to Weasley's buffoons. "Get out." They complied quickly.

"Hello Potter." Draco took in his old nemesis.

"Malfoy." The milky white of Potter's bad eye was a startling contrast to the still-bright green of the other. It appeared that the entire left side of his body was no longer working properly. A year could a lot of damage it would seem.

Potter attempted to grin, but only one half of his face obeyed. "Bit of sight these days," he joked. Draco realized he had probably been staring.

"Actually, I'm impressed." Draco admitted. "I was quite sure you'd be a vegetable by now. Well done."

"I've got a pretty good team keeping alive. There may be no cure for that damned curse, but I plan to see this war to the end."

Draco hummed his appreciation. "Did you get the Christmas present I sent you last year?"

"Ha! It hardly counts as a gift. That raid lasted all of five minutes."

"Oh, that is disappointing. My apologies."

"Wait one fucking minute." Weasley had gone all red in the face again. "You two know each other?'

"We all went to school together you great git," Potter exclaimed.

"You know what I mean!"

"Oh do stop shouting." Granger pleaded with him, rubbing her temples. It was amazing how the tension in the room had almost completely dissipated now that Potter was present. "Harry, you knew about Malfoy?"

"I was often his contact for the Order. Until I got cursed, that is."

"Why didn't I know this?"

"A bit above your pay grade, Granger." Draco watched her face tighten.

"You took a very liberal interpretation of my orders, Granger." Shacklebolt rumbled. "Don't let it happen again."

"I take full responsibility for this, sir" Granger declared. "The Manor was under attack. They were all in danger."

"So you took it upon yourself to put _us_ in danger?" Weasley scoffed. "Did you even calculate the risk these people represent?"

"What?" Granger was incredulous. "Calculate risk? Do you hear yourself when you talk?"

"Where have you been?" Shacklebolt asked Potter wearily.

"Scouting about, mostly." The bespectacled man hobbled forward. "Found out that besides the handful of people stupid enough to cause a scene this morning, there's really nobody who's questioning Hermione's judgment on this."

The freckle faced weasel looked away guiltily.

"You unmitigated bastard." Granger growled. "You were trying to manipulate Kingsley into tossing them all out! When it was just you and few of your cronies stirring up trouble?"

"I don't care what everyone else thinks! This is a bad idea. Allowing these people to stay is a mistake that we will all pay for in the end."

"I didn't do this on a whim, Ronald. Why can't you just trust me?"

"Can you blame me, Hermione? You haven't exactly been stable recently!"

The quiet that followed his exclamation was heavy. Draco watched Granger wilt. Interesting.

"You should leave." Potter shuffled Weasley to he door. He clapped him on the back briefly and spoke under his breath. "I know that you're trying to do the right thing here, but you're only making things worse, mate."

Shackelbolt was deep in conversation with Granger when Weasley left the room. Potter limped over to Draco with a genial expression on his face.

"Sorry about all that," he said to the group. "Nice to see you Nott, Zabini." The men shook hands. "Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Parkinson. Pansy." Potter nodded politely to the women.

"So can we expect to walk the halls without getting lynched?" Pansy asked.

Potter winced. "I can't say that people are thrilled, but nobody is going to harm you. But it might be wise to stay together."

"Fantastic." Theo rolled his eyes.

Granger came over, her face tight with tension. She didn't make eye contact with any one person, but rather spoke to the wall behind them. "I'm going to see about some living arrangements for you. I'll be back by the time your Legilimancy exams are finished."

"I'll accompany you."

Granger looked at Draco like he'd just announced he was going to juggle. "You don't need to do that."

"I'm not needed here. Besides I have to make sure you don't stuff us in some abandoned classroom with rags for a bed."

She didn't even bristle at his mockery, merely closed her eyes for a moment and nodded.

* * *

Ron was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The sight of him brought a sharp pain to her chest. How could he say such things to her? The Ron she knew and had loved for years would never be so callous. Straightening her spine, she let her hurt turn to anger. She thought about hexing him into the ground then kicking him in the ribs for good measure. He must have seen the dangerous look on her face, because he raised empty hands in surrender.

"I just want to talk, Hermione," Ron said. Her first instinct was to turn away, to tell him to go to hell. Then she reminded herself that Ron had been her best friend since childhood. They had been in love once. He had pulled her from the dungeon at the Lestrange Mansion and carried her home. The last couple years had been rough for them, and the last few months had been the worst. For a moment, she considered turning him away. There wasn't much for them to talk about, and she was too tired to argue.

Ron sighed impatiently and looked over her shoulder at Malfoy. "Can we talk? Alone?"

Malfoy stepped past her and walked a few feet down the corridor, looking away as if he wasn't interested. She couldn't care less if he heard every word. He had already seen her berated by her friends, and nearly spit on by her soldiers.

"I just want to talk," he repeated when she descended the last few steps to him.

She was completely unwilling to listen to any more angry recriminations about her character, and she told him so.

"That's not what I want to talk about," he assured her. She remembered a time when that face looked on her with love and devotion. Now he just looked bitter.

He had always wanted to be needed, to feel special. They were never closer than when they were being hunted, when Hermione was an emotional wreck. The first year after the Battle of Hogwarts, she had clung to him for strength. Somewhere on the battlefield, however, she had discovered herself; the tough fabric making up her spirit, the current of her courage moving her forward. She needed him less and less. Even after returning home from captivity, she had found her feet quickly. She couldn't help feeling that he had been disappointed that she hadn't needed him.

"So what do you want?"

He winced at the question and shuffled his feet. "I don't want it to be like this. I hate arguing."

"I hate the way you called me an untrustworthy traitor." The anger felt good. It kept the pain away. "I hate the way you accused me of being unstable and a threat to our people."

"I know what I said. But I didn't mean it like that." He looked ashamed. She was suddenly very tired.

"Is this an apology?"

He frowned. "I still think they shouldn't be here. I don't think we can trust them. But I'm sorry for being so awful. I know Kingsley ordered you to take Malfoy and that he blackmailed you into bringing his friends."

It would be easy to let it go at that, to smile and part ways feeling better. But she didn't feel better and she didn't want an easy out.

"It was my call Ron." She challenged him. "Malfoy may have gotten his way in the beginning, but Kingsley told me to make the ultimate decision. I could have Obliviated them and kicked them out of the safe house. But I decided to bring them back to Hogwarts and make them a part of our cause. So barring anything horrible found from the Legilimancy, if they stay, it will be by my actions."

He stared at her, his jaw ticking. If he had been hoping she would lie down and let him have his way, he was mistaken. She wasn't interested in absolving herself of responsibility to make him feel better.

"The needs of the Order come before my personal opinions, though those have changed significantly since the beginning of the war. We need information on the Legion. We need talented wands to fight for us. There may be a risk, but closing ourselves off from everyone hasn't worked so far. Our numbers are dwindling. We're losing hope. And those people you don't trust may have brought us the key to winning this war."

She saw him open his mouth to argue. Reaching a hand out to stop his words, she grasped his arm and squeezed.

"I accept your apology, Ron." She stretched up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you later in the week to go over the details for the next supply run."

As she walked away from him, she was surprised at how easy it was to come to the conclusion that someone who had once been so essential in her life no longer fit.

* * *

Ron wasn't sure what had happened between himself and Hermione, but he watched her walk away feeling like he'd lost something. There were things going on in that conversation that he couldn't quite comprehend. It made him feel confused and angry. It was how he always felt around her. She was always three steps ahead of him, always leaving him behind. He shook it off. He had apologized and now they would be okay.

She was stopped down the hall by a witch with a handful of parchment. While the two of them spoke, he noticed Mafloy leaning up against the wall a few feet away. The dirty little ferret had probably heard everything. Ron decided it was time the two of them got something straight.

"I don't know what your game is Death Eater." Ron used his height to his advantage. He knew he was big, and even though Malfoy had grown taller and filled out a bit, he was still the smaller man. In more ways than one. "Following Hermione around like a dog doesn't make you one of us. And if you hurt her, you'll be dealing with me."

Malfoy sighed dramatically and studied his fingernails. "Why do the men in her life seem to feel the need to threaten me? Don't you think she can take care of herself?"

"You're a dangerous fucking twat, and I want you to know that I'm watching you."

"I'm dangerous?" Malfoy gestured to himself innocently. "I'm not the one who threatened her. I'm not the one who turned my back on decades of friendship."

Ron wondered if he could plant him a facer and get away with it. "Don't talk about things you don't understand. We have our ups and downs, but I will always be a part of her life."

"That little tête-à-tête a moment ago says differently. Or didn't you realize that was goodbye?"

The truth in Malfoy's words burned through him. Is that what had happened?

"You may think you know her," Ron growled, stepping into the other man's space. "Or that because she took your side that you're friends, but I know better. When this is all over, she'll drop you like yesterday's rubbish. This little costume you're wearing, the one that makes you look like a decent fellow, is total shite. One day, you'll slip up and she'll see who you really are, and she'll want nothing to do with you."

"That is certainly a possibility." Malfoy's mocking grin turned very serious, and he took a step forward so they were nearly nose to nose. In a quiet voice he said, "By the way, if you ever point a wand at her again, I'll bury you."

With that, the man sauntered away to join Hermione, whistling under his breath.


	5. To Make Room

_A/N: Thanks to Kyonomiko for being the most dedicated reviewer ever. Thanks to Judit and Anon for taking the time to say something nice. Your words are like digital food for the muse!_

* * *

Chapter Five: To Make Room

 _May 1999_

 _Hogsmeade_

 _The bricks next to Hermione's shoulder exploded in a cloud of dust and rubble. She felt the blast distantly as she held her hand over Padma's wound. The cutting curse that had blasted a hole in her friend's stomach had contained enough dark magic to render most healing spells useless. Hermione had tried every spell she could think of, but the blood continued to pump out of her. She remembered from her distant Muggle childhood that pressure on a wound could help. Padma had screamed when she pressed a wadded up cloak against the gaping hole._

" _This isn't safe." Luna slid down the wall next to her, a large purple bruise on her cheek. She clutched at her arm, which appeared to be broken. "We can't stay here."_

" _We need a healer." Hermione looked up from all the blood coating her hands to see tears running down the blonde girl's face._

" _I don't think we're going to get her back to the castle in time."_

 _Padma was breathing shallowly, her eyes wide open and staring. Hermione recognized the look. It was only two days ago that Padma, Parvati, Ginny, Cho, Luna and Hermione had sat around the kitchen table at the safe house drinking and promising to keep each other safe. Us girls should stick together, they had laughed._

 _Another blast hit the side of the building, spraying them with brick. The bracelet on Hermione's arm lit up with heat._

 _ **RETREAT**_

 _The words appeared on the metal band, bespelled with a protean charm. Luna took her hand and helped her get up, her eyes reddened with tears. Padma wasn't breathing anymore. 'Vati would never forgive her. She would never forgive herself._

* * *

Hermione watched the men speaking to each other as she briefly discussed supply rotations with Anna Hutchins, before asking the woman to find clothing for the Purebloods. The former Ravenclaw had blinked at Hermione, and then agreed quietly. Hermione spied Ron as he stepped into Malfoy's personal space, but the blonde didn't look the least bit intimidated. It looked more like a pissing contest than a conversation, but Hermione felt little inclination to interrupt. What she wanted was a nap. And maybe some food. She turned away from the scene and started walking, fully expecting Malfoy to follow. He did after a moment, whistling to himself. They walked in silence for a full two minutes before he started mocking her.

"Trouble in paradise?" He asked genially. Hermione kept her peace, hoping he would drop it if she ignored him. Instead, he took her silence as permission to continue. "And you seem so perfect for each other. What a shame."

"Fuck off."

"That conversation between you two sounded rather painful. Still in love with him then?"

"I'm not discussing my personal life with you." She was still furious, but enough of her ire had waned that she felt slightly embarrassed that Malfoy had heard the entirety of her conversation with Ron. Of course, getting spit on by her subordinates and then summarily dismissed by her former lover and best friend was just as bad. The entire day had been humiliating.

"And I have no interest in hearing about it." He continued to whistle softly.

The air was getting colder the lower they descended into the castle. She knew the moment Malfoy realized where they were headed. He stiffened ever so slightly, but said nothing. He was gently probing his injured eye, muttering under his breath.

"I can heal your eye, for you."

"Madam Pomfrey is still the healer here?"

"She is. But I'm quite good at healing spells. Had a bit of practice over the years."

Mafloy studied her out of his one good eye. "No thank you. You might permanently disfigure me."

"I told you I'm experienced!"

"It's your integrity I'm questioning, not your skill." In spite of his words, he bent his head to her level.

Hermione shook her head at him in disbelief. His eye was swollen nearly shut, with just the smallest hint of stormy grey peeking through the injured eyelid. His lashes were dark near the lid, but turned blonde at the tips and they were incredibly long. He had always been good-looking, though nothing heart stopping. Age had done wonders for his pointy features, filling them out into high cheekbones and a well defined jaw. His nose was still a bit sharp, but it only added to his aristocratic visage. What a waste of such handsome features, she thought. She pressed her wand to his brow and cast a diagnostic charm. "You've cracked your eye socket," she muttered.

"I thought as much," he replied, his breath stirring across her forehead. His breath smelled like coffee, and his robes had that absence of scent she normally associated with magical cleaning. Of course, that was impossible since he had no wand. It was amazing to her that he didn't reek after a stressful escape from Legionnaires and two days spent in a Muggle house with no way to clean his only pair of clothes. On the other hand, she couldn't imagine encountering a Draco Malfoy who looked and smelled less than perfect.

"Have you had this injury before?" she wondered.

Malfoy merely shrugged and watched her as she murmured words of healing over his face. She felt like squirming under his regard. The inflamed flesh was receding, though it was still an ugly green and purple. He blinked a few times as his eyelid was freed.

"You'll have a bruise." She told him.

He nodded, still watching her. When she had finished, he straightened and reached into his robes. "You probably want this back."

Hermione pulled her spare wand from his fingers and slid it into the sheath at her ribs. "Thanks for having my back."

He looked at her as if she had just said something incredible stupid, before letting his face go neutral. "All I did was stand there. Besides, watching ickle Ronniekin's face go purple was well worth it."

Ignoring his comment, she continued on her way, Malfoy following closely behind.

"We're close to the dungeons," he mentioned as they descended some stairs. "Putting the Slytherins in the old Slytherin dorms? Fitting, I suppose."

"Actually the dorms have been converted into storage. Not to mention the dungeons, which have been returned to their original splendor as actual prison cells."

"So where will we be staying?"

"Just down here." Hermione turned down a dusty hall and then another, heading away from the old dorms into what used to be professors quarters, abandoned long before her time at Hogwarts. She stopped at a wooden door painted with faded green paint and took a deep breath. Had she remembered to pick up her dirty clothes before she left?

"This is my room," she muttered as she unlocked the door, hoping the place wasn't a complete disaster. "The rooms around it haven't been used in awhile, but they can be cleaned."

It wasn't pristine, but there weren't old knickers lying around, thank Merlin. And she had managed to make her bed the morning before she had Apparated to Malfoy Manor. The light coming from the single window was enough to make the things in her room visible, even though the murky light was green from the lake. At first, she had hated being underground and forced to live without real sunlight, but it didn't take long before the undulating light was soothing, and she took comfort in the complete lack of sound from the thick stone walls surrounded by millions of gallons of water. The mermaids were scarce, but friendly. Determined to hide her unease at having Draco Malfoy casually perusing her living space, she plowed straight towards the fireplace where she threw a handful of dust into the embers.

"Minerva McGonagall," she demanded of the purple flames.

"You use the Floo Network?" Malfoy was aghast. The Legion watched the Floo Network religiously, just waiting for an Order member to trip up and land themselves squarely in the Ministry's lap.

"Not exactly. It's set up just within the bounds of the castle and can't be accessed outside the Hogwarts wards." Hermione had spent nearly three years developing the Hogwarts Floo with the help of George and Arthur Weasley, her resident inventors. George had insisted they find a way to make the flames purple instead of green. Hermione had fought him on the ridiculous demand until she realized it would be a great security measure. Green flames meant trouble, purple meant safety.

"Interesting." Malfoy didn't sound the least bit interested. Was it too much to ask for a little awe at her genius?

Minerva's head appeared in the glowing ashes of the fireplace. "Hermione. So nice to see you." Her tone implied otherwise. Hermione choked back a sigh. "What can I do for you?"

"I need the four rooms around mine cleared for the—" she paused searching for the right label. "For our . . . new additions."

There was a long moment of silence. It was difficult to read Minerva's expression through the floo, but Hermione got the impression that she was greatly displeased. What did she expect Hermione to do? Set up a tent in the Forbidden Forest? "I'm afraid the house elves have been employed sorting through the food and clothing we've acquired from the last supply run. The rest will be busy in the kitchens as usual."

Anxiety curled in Hermione's gut. "Not a single one can be spared?"

"I'm afraid not. Anything else I can help you with?"

"Thank you anyway, Minerva." Hermione had barely gotten the words out of her mouth when the woman disappeared from view. If Ron had lied about the number of angry soldiers to tilt the balance of public opinion in his direction, Harry had undoubtedly done the same to spare Hermione as well as to make the Purebloods feel more at ease. Realistically, she was aware that most of the people within the confines of Hogwarts would want nothing to do with the six former Slytherins, even if those people didn't overtly cause trouble. Experiencing a subtle, yet completely clear, dismissal from her former Professor, a woman who she greatly admired, was like getting punched in the gut. And another trusted friend bites the dust, she thought grimly.

She looked around to see Malfoy studying the several photographs displayed on her bookcases. It made her deeply uncomfortable.

"I'll show you your rooms," she interrupted his investigation. He followed her out silently. The two rooms to her left and the two across the way were habitable as far as she knew. There were four other rooms down the hall, but two of them had mold that was uncontrollable by even the strongest spell, and the other two were packed up to the rafters with old potions textbooks.

The door stuck just a bit as she pushed it open. There was a bed, a dresser and a reading chair. It was smaller than Hermione's room, but would do after it was cleaned. The room next to it was the same while the two across the hall were much larger. "We can fit two beds into these," she told him. "You'll have to share obviously."

"The mothers can share," Malfoy answered. "And Theo and Blaise will want to be together anyway."

"Oh," Hermione squeaked. "I didn't know they were . . . together."

"How would you have known? Only Gryffindors feel the need to snog on hilltops." Malfoy sneered. "Why are these rooms all empty? Too close to the filthy Slytherins?"

"Exactly that." Hermione stood just inside and surveyed the thick coating of filth covering the furniture. "The entire lower level was mostly abandoned after the Battle. It was symbolic, I suppose. A ridiculous gesture really. Nobody but you snakes ever felt at ease in such dreary conditions anyway."

Malfoy came up behind her and leaned against the door jamb. "So then why are you so comfortable here?"

"I have a house in the village that I share with Andromeda Tonks and her grandson, but sometimes I sleep here." Hermione walked further into the room and turned to look at him. "It's actually quite nice once you get used to it." He raised an eyebrow skeptically. She wasn't sure she should be so candid with him, but if several people were going to be living so close to her, she thought a bit of honesty might be in order. "I need the space. Since my stay at the Lestrange Mansion, my magic has been . . . unpredictable."

"Unpredictable how?" He stepped into the room, the green light reflecting eerily off of his platinum hair.

"Oh you know," she evaded, wandering away from him. "Levitating objects, small fires. Random outbursts of destructive energy." She said the last bit quickly.

"So you've isolated yourself here." It wasn't a question. "All those brave Order members are afraid of a bit of wild magic?"

"In their defense, I did bring a wall down." She continued quickly to reassure him. "But that was months ago."

"And yet I'll wager nobody will have a problem bunking _us_ next door."

"I won't be taking that wager," she answered under her breath. Aloud, she said, "Is this acceptable?"

"Is there a choice?" His lip was curling into a sneer as he nudged the ancient armchair near the hearth.

"Luna prefers to sleep in a tree at the edge of the Forest when she isn't sleeping on a porch swing. I'll bet she could make room for you." Hermione grinned at him.

Malfoy looked horrified at the notion. "I don't even know what to say to that. Where are the house elves to clean this mess up?"

"There aren't any. We'll be doing this all ourselves."

He stared at her in silence for a moment. "You said something about a tree?"

"It won't be that bad." Hermione tried to sound positive. In truth, she was tired. It was only a little past eleven in the morning, and she was fully ready to tuck herself into bed. Malfoy was staring forlornly into space, and she imagined that he was remembering the luxury of his ancestral home. "Regretting your decision to defect?"

His sharp eyes pierced her. "Ask me again in a few hours."

As it turned out, 'a few hours' was overly optimistic. It took them all day, and by the end, they were both covered in dirt. The rest of the Purebloods had shown up sometime after lunch, but proved to be of little help. Pansy sneered at having to clean, but got to work mending linens, a process in which she had absolutely no experience. The bed sheets were usable, but only just. It didn't help that she was having a horrible time with Hermione's wands. Theo and Blaise checked the furniture and fixed anything that was in disrepair. Both Persia and Narcissa were happy to help by transfiguring parchment into sculptures and various other beautiful things. Malfoy mostly sneered as he tried—and failed—to keep his robes clean. Thank goodness Harry and Neville had accompanied the group down to the dungeons, for they were far more help than all six of the Purebloods combined.

Most of it was done by passing Hermione's wands around, and with mixed results. Theo and Blaise hadn't actually caught anything on fire, but the sparks that accompanied the reparo charms resulted in a few scortch marks on the furniture, as well as pleading from Hermione to be careful with the precious lengths of wood. Pansy waited impatiently for her turn. Persia and Narcissa both seemed to be able to use her spare without a problem, but had little luck with her actual wand.

Despite their efforts to conceal it, Hermione noticed quite a few spells being cast without the use of a wand. She desperately wanted to ask them about it, her academic thirst roaring to life, but judging from the subtle glares he had been shooting them all day, Malfoy had instructed them to hide the ability. She understood the desire to keep one's strengths hidden from the enemy. And despite years of working for the Order, they didn't consider themselves a part of the rebellion. Couldn't have anything to do with Order soldiers trying to drive them out of Hogwarts, she thought bitterly.

After dinner, Hermione once again found herself sitting across a table from Malfoy, except this time they were both filthy. Harry had managed to wrangle dinner from the house elves to be served in Hermione's room in order to keep the former Slytherins out of the dining hall. After a meal mostly passed in silence, Harry and Neville had retreated home: Neville to his room near the Gryffindor tower, and Harry to the house he shared with Ginny in the village. Everyone else had retired for the night, but Hermione and Malfoy sat in the light from the fire and sipped at a bit of Muggle bourbon Hermione had produced from the back of her desk drawer. He sipped the fiery drink with a grace that spoke of years of consuming expensive liquor.

She watched his long fingers lift the glass to his lips a few times before she couldn't take it anymore.

"It's driving me crazy," she exclaimed. Malfoy lifted a brow. "What do you have?"

He looked faintly amused. "What do you think I have?" He leaned back in his chair, long legs stretching under the table and brushing her feet. Even filthy, his robes fit him perfectly. With a tumbler in one hand, and the other shoved nonchalantly in his pocket, he looked fresh off the cover Witch Weekly. Hermione was equal parts fascinated and disgusted by him. Or perhaps she was disgusted by her fascination.

"It's obviously important. Important enough for you to abandon your wealth, your ancestral home and everything you know," Malfoy nodded, humming in agreement. "But not so important that Kingsley felt like the Legillimancy exams were of greater urgency. He let you just walk out of his office, which tells me you aren't carrying something vital to our success in the war."

"All good points." He took a sip.

"Stop enjoying this so much," she growled at him.

A flash of honest delight lit his face. Hermione had to look away from him for a moment; his handsome face was blinding her. "This is absolutely killing you, isn't it?"

"Why _did_ Kingsley let you leave with me? I know he doesn't really trust you."

"Besides the fact that I was being accompanied by the Gryffindor Princess?" Hermione rolled her eyes. She hated that name. "Shacklebolt doesn't know."

Hermione was stunned. "He authorized an emergency extraction in broad daylight without knowing what he was collecting?"

"He was collecting _me_ ," Malfoy answered smugly. "I thought at least that much was obvious."

"There is no way that Kingsley Shacklebolt sent a team in to enemy territory without knowing if it would be worth the risk."

"He knows if I say I have something important—important enough to flee into the arms of the Order—that it's worth whatever I say it is."

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. That didn't sound like Kingsley at all. "I think your mild case of egomania just became terminal."

Malfoy smirked at her. "There wasn't supposed to be an extraction," he confessed. "I was supposed to leave and meet an Order member at a secret location who would bring me to Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Bellatrix got wind of my political affiliations and a hasty exit became unavoidable."

"Is that why you decided to bring the entire Slytherin Quidditch team with you?"

"Pansy has never touched a Quaffle in her life," he objected. "And partly, yes."

He had managed to make a small concession in truth, and yet tell her nothing at all about what he was hiding. "Are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

He studied her for a moment, his grey eyes boring into hers. She fought the urge to look away and felt warmth on her cheeks from his direct attention. Gods, she was being ridiculous. He seemed to come to a decision and began to speak.

"What is the single most destructive weapon the Legion possesses?"

"Bellatrix." Hermione answered immediately. "Her animagus form is deadly, and nearly impervious to curses." She sighed deeply, banishing the memory of an entire clearing filled with smoking bodies and the scent of dragon fire. "We've lost too many good witches and wizards to the Black Dragon."

"What if you could even the odds? Perhaps even stack them in our favor?" After so long believing Malfoy was her enemy, it was strange hearing him speak as if they were on the same team.

"And how would we do that?"

He pulled a notebook out of his robes and slid it across the table to her. It was small, about the size of a paperback novel and covered in black leather. She picked it up and skimmed her thumb across the outside edge, seeing that it was filled with ink.

"What is this?"

She looked up in time to see him bare his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "A way to kill the Dragon."

* * *

It looked like rain. The leaves above Luna's head were thrashing about in the intermittent wind, giving her the perfect view of a darkening sky. The thick branch under her back moved gently as she stretched her arms above her head. She considered staying up in her tree through the storm, for it was warm enough that she wouldn't get sick, and she was certain she needed a bath. In truth, she was reluctant to leave the solitude of the Forbidden Forest. Fleeing the moment they touched down at Hogwarts had not been her intention, but she had needed to get away from the Purebloods before she used her knife to carve the skin from their bones. _Skin, slice, strip_. They made her feel afraid again, and she was desperate to control the slimy terror wriggling around in her gut.

Someone was approaching. She heard the soft footfalls coming from the direction of the castle. It was, perhaps, too much to hope that it was who Hermione had come looking for her. The witch was undoubtedly busy tending to her new friends, and was probably trying to fix the damage they had done to her reputation. Listening intently, Luna decided the footsteps belonged to a man. Large. Well trained in moving quietly. He was walking purposefully, but still a bit unsure. He was looking for her.

"Luna."

Ronald Weasley. She closed her eyes and settled more comfortably on the branch, intending to wait him out. She knew she was invisible to anyone on the ground. He may have discovered her general location, but he didn't know in which tree she was hiding. All she had to do was let him pass her by.

"I need to talk to you." Silence. "It's important. It's about Hermione."

Luna rolled her eyes and let herself roll off the branch, flipping to her feet just before she hit the ground, her many braids slapping against her neck. The tall redhead swung around to face her.

"Bloody hell." He was frowning storm clouds at her. "You're like a fucking monkey."

Luna didn't respond. Silence was the best way to get to the bottom of things, she had found. It made people uncomfortable and more likely to spill their secrets. Besides, there wasn't much the two of them had in common anymore. Ever since Ron had abandoned Hermione, she rarely felt the need to speak to him. In fact, she wondered if sending him a slicing hex might make her feel better. She had heard the murmurs of discontent rumbling through Hogwarts, and knew he was behind most of it. Hermione was going to face a heaping pile of shit from Kingsley, not only because of the choices she had made, but because of the ire Weasley was stoking throughout the barracks.

The man shifted uncomfortably as she stared at him.

"I want you to tell me what you know about those fucking Purebloods."

Luna considered his demand. "Why would I do that?"

"There must be something we can use to get rid of them. Spies or not—they can't stay at Hogwarts."

Luna cocked her head. Ron was very angry. He must have seen the way Hermione protects them, she thought. Jealousy was terrible and motivated people to do stupid things. She fingered the knife on her belt and watched his eyes flicker to her hand then back to her face.

"I know you don't want them here any more than I do," he said.

She kept her silence and started circling him, pleased when he swallowed hard.

"We haven't spoken much since—well since you were rescued from your . . . imprisonment." What a pleasant way to put it. Trying to placate her was a bad idea. "But we both care about Hermione."

Luna allowed a vacuous smile to curl her lips. "If you feel that way, I wonder why you would so publicly declare the opposite."

Ron swallowed again, a flush of red painting his cheeks. "I don't know what you heard, but those people were already angry. I just wanted them to have their concerns heard."

She didn't know what he was talking about exactly, having only seen bits and pieces of unrest since her return, but decided it didn't matter. Something like disgust settled in her chest. This man was useless; stirring up trouble for the sake of his vanity. She tried to remember the last time he had left Hogwarts on any kind of mission, and couldn't. The hilt of her knife was cold and bumpy as she ran her index finger across it. Too bad he was so well known, she thought. It also occurred to her that Hermione would not appreciate Luna slicing open her ex boyfriend.

"Look," Ron continued. "We both know that Hermione is too willing to trust people. She wants to see the best in everyone. Kingsley wants whatever Malfoy has brought with him, and can't see the danger. You and I know better. When they have served their usefulness, they need to go away."

The sight of the dragon rampant pin on Nott's chest flashed through Luna's mind, and with it, that terrible fear.

"I'm listening."

* * *

 _A/N: How does one kill a dragon? Any guesses?_


	6. To See A Light

_A/N:_

 _Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I really love reading your thoughts!_

* * *

Chapter Six: To See A Light

 _May 2000_

 _Parkinson Manor_

 _Pansy saw the slight tremor in her mother's hand as the older woman cut delicately into her Cornish hen. It was the only hint of her disquiet, for her features were composed, her back ramrod straight. Pansy studied her for a moment, desperately trying to mimic her composure. Flicking her eyes between Draco and Blaise, she imagined herself soaking up their cool confidence. Theo had plastered a stiff grin on his face as he conversed merrily with Marus Flint and his father. They broke into quiet chuckles every now and then._

 _Bellatrix sat at the head of the table, her feet propped on top of her dinner plate. She was leaning back in her chair, her head tipped over the back, long black hair tickling the hardwood. Lucius Malfoy sat to her right, whispering into her neck. His hand would drift over her collarbone and up to her ear as he spoke. Narcissa sat across from her husband, a queen amongst peasants. She ignored her husband and sister, eating calmly._

 _Everyone ignored the naked wizard moaning above the fireplace, nailed to the wall in a twisted parody of the Muggle Christ figure._

 _"_ _Please," he squealed. "Please Bella."_

 _Rabastan Lestrange had been sentenced to death three days ago. Pansy wondered how many meals they would have to sit through before he finally stopped pleading. Even in her bedroom, she could hear him suffer and she had not the courage to cast a muffling charm on her walls in case Bellatrix wanted to inspect her wand. She had slept little and eaten nothing but the sandwich Draco had forced upon her after dinner yesterday._

 _"_ _Something wrong, Pansy dearest?"_

 _Bellatrix's question yanked Pansy from her horrified study of Rabastan. She felt the weight of the woman's stare pin her to her seat. "I'm wondering when the fool will decide to die and leave us all in peace."_

 _The words came out steady and acidic. Bellatrix threw her head back and laughed. Draco lifted the corner of his mouth in approval. Pansy swallowed a bite of mashed cauliflower and felt it turn to lead in her stomach._

* * *

Pansy woke that morning with a pounding headache from the mental beating she had taken the day before. Without the protections of Occlumency, the Auror had been able to waltz through her memories at will and the experience had been deeply disturbing. While he stayed away from her deeper, darker past- as promised- it was still unaccountably embarrassing. The last time she had allowed someone pick through her mind, he had smiled at her with his glowing red eyes and congratulated her on her efforts as part of the Inquisatorial Squad. The Dark Lord had also had an incredibly light touch with mind magics, only inflicting pain when he so desired. The Aurors had been awkward and rough, tearing through her thoughts like a boot through tissue.

It took a moment to remember why the room was cold, and why the sheets against her skin were rough, and why the air smelled of damp stone. Surprisingly, after the initial flicker of disgust at her lowered circumstances, all the she felt was relief; there would be no sociopathic witch waiting for her in the breakfast room, no evil betrothed and his small, slimy touches. When she cracked her eyes, she saw the light in the room from the single underwater window was faint. Pansy realized it was probably quite early. Like any civilized person, Pansy hadn't woken up before ten o'clock since school, and so was entirely ready to roll over and go back to sleep. Until she spotted Draco grinning at her from the single chair in her room. 'Room' was perhaps too generous a word for the domicile in which she'd found herself. She'd had bigger closets.

Speaking of closets, she studied the small stack of second-hand, magically altered clothing at the end of her bed as Draco talked at her. The clothes were ill fitting, and there wasn't a single skirt in the bunch. She had never worn trousers in her life. Such inappropriate Muggle clothing was unacceptable for a woman of her position. A part of her wanted to wear them because, really, an ass like Pansy's needed to be showcased, but the other part was terrified. Were there special undergarments that went with such clothing? Would Pansy be expected to walk around with seams of fabric pressed against her most intimate area? On second thought. . .

"Wait a minute!"

Draco stopped talking, looking at her questioningly. Something he had said tripped her attention. He was describing his conversation with Granger the night before, when he had let her in on their secret research, and then left her with a very precious notebook.

"You left the notebook with her?" She shrieked. "That notebook is _everything_ , Draco!"

"I left a _copy_ of the notebook with her." He pulled the familiar book out of his robes and showed it to her with a look of disdain. "Honestly, Pans, it's like you don't know me at all."

Pansy let a out a small huff of relief, instantly chagrined at her outburst. She blamed it on the ridiculously early hour, the lack of appropriate clothing, and Draco Malfoy's obnoxious voice grating at her.

"Theo and Blaise are showering. As soon as your exhaustive morning toilet is complete, we'll make a visit to Granger's room and see what she's made of all our brilliance."

Pansy was glad that she had used the communal bathroom down the hall the night before. She did not want to have to fight Blaise for the mirror.

"Get out so I can get dressed," she snapped at Draco.

He grinned at her knowingly and left. Ten minutes and a few curse words later, Pansy joined him in the hall. She had no makeup or hair styling products, and had settled with a small glamour charm. The trousers were not as uncomfortable as she had anticipated, and she found that the undergarments provided for her were no different than the ones she normally wore, except that they were made of cotton and not silk and were a rather unfortunate color. The shirt she chose was the least horrible of the bunch, being a lovely blue, which brought out her eyes, and only slightly too small in the sleeves and slightly too large in the middle.

There was no answer at Granger's door. Draco frowned at the handle. Neither of them wanted to touch it, for if anybody would have intensive personal wards on their room, it would be Hermione Granger. Pansy could feel the power radiating off the door, making the hair on her arm stand up. There was serious magic going on in there.

"She warned me about her magic going wild sometimes." Draco looked at Pansy expectantly.

"You want me to try and break through her wards with no wand?" His faith in her abilities was gratifying, but she had no interest in exhausting herself attempting something that was probably nearly impossible even with the help of a wand.

"Feels like an anti-intrusion charm," he mumbled, his hands out-splayed to get a feel for the ward. "A good locking charm. Possibly a painful rebound jinx for anyone who tried to step across the threshold."

"Might be able to blast it." Or they might get blown across the hall in pieces.

Draco looked at her questioningly. She shrugged. They both stepped back and aimed great pulsing balls of sheer power at the door. "This might just alert them to our. . . ability."

Draco scoffed. "These people are mostly Gryffindors. They aren't known for their perceptiveness."

Without another word, they blasted the old wooden door to pieces. Theo and Blaise came stumbling out of the bathroom at nearly the same moment.

"What the fuck?" Theo gasped.

"Knocking didn't work, I take it?" Blaise brushed wood chips from Theo's shoulder.

The room was a disaster. Papers littered every surface and drifted to the ground on a swirling, magical breeze. The painting above the fireplace was rocking back and forth as if someone were pushing on it. Something flew past Pansy's nose and she realized it was a book. There were several objects flying about the room, most of them books, flapping their covers as if they were wings. In the middle of all this mess, curled up on her bed, was Hermione Granger. Her eyes were clenched shut, her hands clasped over her ears.

Draco made the short trip to the bed, smacking a book out of his way. "Granger!" He reached for her shoulder, but quickly yanked his hand back, cursing.

"What is it?"

"Some kind of ward," he muttered, rubbing his arm. "Bloody fucking painful. Like a tiny cruciatus."

As if sensing their presence, the things in the air started zooming around anxiously. Obviously, Granger had lost her mind sometime in the night. Draco studied the curly haired woman for a moment, a crease between his brows.

"Theo, go get my mother." Theo nodded and backed out of the room quickly. "Pansy, floo Potter."

Pansy jumped over to the fireplace, a length of parchment crackling under her feet. There was a small glass bowl on the mantle filled with violet sand. "Harry Potter," she demanded of the purple flames. There was no answer. She tried again, shouting this time. Nothing. Did the floo network reach the village? She couldn't remember. She thought hard for a moment before grabbing another handful of sand and throwing it into the fire. "Neville Longbottom." It took a moment, but the plain face of the former Gryffindor appeared with a shocked look on his face. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and Pansy could just barely see the swoops of his collarbones.

"Pansy Parkinson?"

"Your princess has gone round the bend," Pansy snapped at him. "Get down here and fix it before we get clobbered by flying literature."

It was hard to tell with his face cast in purple, but she thought the man paled. "I'll be right there. Don't touch her, you'll get hurt."

"Yeah, figured that out, thanks."

He was gone and Pansy retreated to the doorway. Draco stood amongst the flying debris and stared down at Granger, as if willing her to open her eyes. His face was very carefully blank. A tiny cauldron crashed into his abdomen, breaking his gaze with a grunt. He stepped away from Granger and stalked to the small table in the corner. Blaise was perusing through the mass of parchment there, casually swatting at a fluttering sock. Most of the aerial objects were centered around the bed, so the two men were relatively safe.

"She's done the calculations." Blaise muttered. The table was close enough to the door that Pansy could hear him clearly, even over the fluttering noise of flying papers.

"I figured she would."

"So do you think we broke her mind?" Blaise said it with humor, but none of them were really laughing. It was jarring to see Hermione Granger curled into a miserable ball of destructive magic. Pansy was having a hard time reconciling the miserable sight before her with the wand-wielding-soldier-witch of yesterday.

Theo brushed past Pansy and entered the room in time to smack away a book heading straight for Blaise's head. Narcissa was now behind her, peering over her shoulder, and Pansy heard her own mother leaving the room across the hall.

"What on earth . . ."

"Stay there!" Draco ordered his mother.

"Don't be ridiculous! She could be injured."

"I want you three to stay in the hall."

"I wonder why you woke me at this ungodly hour if you intended to keep me in the hallway."

"Let Potter try to calm her first." Draco took a flapping book to the shoulder and grunted. "It's too dangerous at the moment."

"Potter's not coming," Pansy told him. "But I got a hold of Longbottom."

Draco sighed. "Let's hope he's enough to make all this stop. In the meantime, you three stay clear."

"You males seem to be doing just fine," Pansy had no intention of entering that room again, but she bristled at Draco's imperious tone. "Does having a penis make you impervious to flying objects?"

Draco shot her a look of impatience while Theo laughed. "Humor me and my patriarchal tendencies, will you?"

It felt like hours- though it was no more than fifteen minutes- before Longbottom came barreling into the dungeons, Luna Lovegood hard on his heels.

"About bloody time!" Draco barked at him.

Longbottom's normally genial face was creased with worry as he took in the scene before him. "Had to pick up some help," he explained as Luna shoved by the women blocking the door. Pansy protested loudly when she was pushed into the door jamb. The blonde witch threw her a nasty look before striding into the room as if there weren't dozens of deadly flying objects in the air. "Luna's bloody impossible to find unless she wants to be," Longbottom said as he followed Luna into the room, though more cautiously.

The blonde witch knelt at the bedside and, seemingly unaffected by the ward except for a slight wince, grabbed one of Granger's hands, pulling it away from her ear. The things in the air grew increasingly agitated. Luna wrapped her first two fingers around Grangers's first two, interlocking their hands like two claws. When her fingers were held tightly in the other woman's in this stranger manner, Granger cracked one eye open. A little ceramic otter shattered against the wall.

"I've been pondering words that begin with the letter E." Luna said calmly. Granger blinked and Luna paused. "Equipped. Exculpatory. Expectation."

There was a long moment before Granger let go of a shuddering sigh before replying, "Empty."

Several pieces of parchment, a glass tumbler, and a few framed photographs fell to the floor.

"Exponential. Elemental. Exquisite."

Pansy had no idea what the fuck was going on, but it seemed to be working. There were only a few books still flapping around. "Egregious."

"Endure. Enchant -"

"Epiphany!" Granger sat up, her eye gone wide. All the objects still flying around in the room stilled suddenly and then dropped to the floor. She looked around wildly, eyes searching. When she landed on Draco she leaned forward.

"Is it real?" she demanded. "Is it possible?"

Her eyes were sunken and red, as if she hadn't slept at all. Pansy decided she probably hadn't, judging from the mess of notes and Arithmancy equations sprawled across her table. Draco walked towards her, hands in pockets.

"It's real."

* * *

It only took a few minutes of reading through the journal for Hermione to figure out what Malfoy was trying to accomplish. The pure genius behind it astounded her. There were pages and pages of research on potion ingredients and spell work, notes on trials and errors, and Arithmancy equations to predict the effectiveness of it all. But more than the pleasure she took in dissecting all the research, was the hope that unfurled in her chest with every page. Hermione hadn't realized just how much of that precious emotion she had lost over the years. After resigning oneself to death, after deciding the fight was pointless even as she pasted a smile on her face, after knowing deep within her that the world had betrayed her, she found herself shaking with terror at this new possibility.

The tremors took hold of her entire body and she was gasping for air. They could win. Her vision was narrowing to a pin dot. She stumbled to her bed, vaguely aware of the magic vibrating across her skin, and buried her face in her pillow as she screamed. There was light at the end of the desperate and dark tunnel. It was scrawled all over that notebook Malfoy had casually handed her, as if it didn't really mean anything at all. And to him it probably didn't, beyond whatever ulterior motive he had buried deep in his psyche. To Hermione, it was everything. He was dangling a new life in front of her, and the idea that it may not work, or that they may fail anyway, made her go slightly mad. She faded into a familiar world of blank thoughts.

Nothingness was peace. It was like sliding into a warm and familiar bath. There had been so few times in the last couple of years that she had needed to leave herself in such a way. She had been getting better, she reassured herself. She only needed a moment to escape the terror swamping her. She felt her panic float away.

It could have been days later, or merely minutes, but Hermione was assaulted by a great blasting noise. She slapped her hands over her ears, not ready to leave her warm cocoon of nothingness. She felt someone enter the room and approach her. The presence was familiar, but distantly so, in the way that old clothes sometimes held the scent of a person long after they were gone. It frightened her. Then there was Luna, and their fingers were linked as they had been so many times before, and she was speaking the words that had kept them both sane for months on end.

When she was fully aware of her surroundings, Malfoy affirmed that what she had read in that book was indeed a real thing and not a figment of her tortured mind.

"Thank you, Luna," she whispered to her friend. Hermione knew how hard it was for Luna to even venture inside the castle, much less into the dungeons. The blonde witch nodded with a small smile and escaped back out into the open where the stone walls didn't press in on her spirit.

Neville and Malfoy had joined her on her side of the room, with Narcissa not far behind. Neville's face was a mask of worry, ineffectively hidden behind a grin. Malfoy was unreadable, as usual.

"That was quite an impressive display, Miss Granger." Narcissa had Hermione's wand lit up with a diagnostic spell.

"It often is," she replied, trying to hide the shaking in her voice. Had she ever been so tired in her life? Had she been more in control of her faculties, she probably would have realized that Malfoy was leaning against her dresser, listening. Again. "It's because of that potion, isn't it? The one _he_ used to feed me to muffle my power?"

Narcissa paused. "That is very likely."

"I thought it would go away after a few months." But it hadn't.

"That particular potion was of his own making. I don't know what the long-term effects might be."

"It's gotten better," Hermione offered. "It used to be constant. Now it only happens when I'm emotionally overwhelmed."

"Emotions can be horrible little things." Narcissa handed Hermione's wand back to her. "You are physically healthy, anyway. Besides the sleep deprivation and some mild dehydration."

Hermione made no excuses for her magical display to the Purebloods. She hadn't the words to explain why she had lost her mind and imagined they might be uncomfortable by the attempt anyway. Strangely enough, she didn't really feel embarrassed by her display of weakness. The last few days had provided them with so many humiliating experiences that they could mock her for the rest of her life. Instead, they merely settled themselves into her room around the various objects scattered on the floor, and requested tea. Neville obliged by calling a house elf and ordering a small breakfast.

Hermione was settled into her reading chair, with Narcissa and Persia Parkinson seated at her small table, Pansy on her bed, Theodore and Blaise on the floor at the footboard, and Malfoy and Neville standing near the fireplace. The room was entirely too small for so many people, she thought ruefully. Everyone had tea and a small plate of bread and fruit to break their fast.

"So can I ask what's going on?" Neville piped up.

Hermione let the fragrant steam of her tea waft over her face. "If what I read was correct, they've found a way to effectively utilize human transfiguration, using a combination of a ritual incantation and a potion."

It took Neville a moment to process the information. When understanding struck him, along with all the implications that followed, he swore. "Bloody hell."

"Eloquent as always," Malfoy commented.

"Summarize your invention for me," Hermione requested, shoving bread in her mouth though she didn't really taste it.

"I assume you're familiar with the problems regarding transfiguration as a means of shapeshifting?"

Hermione nodded. The very idea of transfiguring oneself into an animal form was ludicrous. There was a reason witches and wizards went through the arduous process of becoming an Animagus, rather than just transfiguring themselves into their desired shape. The only down side of the Animagus evolution, once all the work had been completed, was that one couldn't choose one's form. It was easy to imagine oneself as a wolf or an owl, but it was just as likely that the alternate form would end being something useless like a salmon or a butterfly. Often, the animal form would be the same as the Patronus. In Hermione's case, she had never bothered to attempt to become an Animagus, since an otter was hardly useful on a battlefield.

On the other hand, Transfiguration was temporary. Simple transformations were more likely to keep over time, while more complicated ones were more likely to decay back to their original form. A candlestick, for example, transfigured into a teacup might stay the same for centuries, while a blueberry turned into a broomstick would change back within a matter of years. When sentience was added into the mix, the results were less predictable. A mouse turned into a pocket book would last no more than a few hours. Humans were terribly difficult to transfigure, and the effort required to hold the false state was enormous. Not to mention the psychological toll. Human brains were wired to accept information only from human senses. Spending prolonged periods of time with a dog's nose or a bat's ears might just scramble a witch or wizard's brain completely.

Malfoy echoed Hermione's thoughts. "If a wizard were to attempt animal transfiguration, he would need to convince his body to accept the physical change on a more permanent basis and also convince his mind to create new pathways that would allow the animal's consciousness to exist simultaneously with the human's."

"Your potion does this?" She had extrapolated as much from the ingredients, which were very similar to polyjuice.

"Yes. It prepares the body to accept the new form and _softens_ , for lack of a better word, the mind. Makes it more amenable to new ways of thinking."

"The ritual gives the transformation weight." Narcissa interjected. "The normal transfiguration process is meant to be temporary. The more involved mechanics of a full-blown ritual aid the spell by. . ." she paused thoughtfully. "Making it more convincing."

"So it's permanent?" Hermione asked.

"Permanent until the spell is reversed, yes. And it can be recast at any point, the ritual is only necessary the first go round."

That little ball of terrifying hope trembled in her chest. "Why didn't you give this to Kingsley yesterday? We need to begin work on this immediately."

"We weren't entirely convinced of it's usefulness to the Order." Malfoy looked irritated. "I wanted to have you on our side before we approached him about it."

"But this is why you're here?" Hermione shook the notebook at them as she looked around. "Isn't it?"

"Partly." He still sounded reluctant.

"The research is impeccable." She argued. "If the work in your notebook is correct, then it's entirely possible that this will work."

There was a brief moment of silence following her words.

"The research is not the problem," Malfoy admitted. "There are only a handful of people that will be able to accomplish this, and the spellwork may very well be deadly to someone not competent enough to perform it properly."

"We'll also have to find qualified wizards willing to risk their lives in order to turn themselves into a dragon," Pansy added. "A dragon that will quite possibly be killed in battle. The transfigured form will not have the natural protections against magic of a real dragon. It's bloody fucking dangerous."

"Language, Pansy!" Persia sharply admonished her daughter over her tea cup. Pansy rolled her eyes.

"We only need one or two people to be successful." Hermione was getting desperate. "Just one or two successful transformations would be enough to turn the tide of this war. Kingsley will see that."

"This involves blood magic. It's borderline Dark and damn risky. It might not be something the Minister is willing to bet on," Theodore mentioned.

"He'd have to trust us," Blaise added.

"I trust you," Hermione said furiously. "And this," she tossed the notebook to Malfoy who deftly plucked it from the air. "Will kill Bellatrix and end this fucking war."

Persia set her tea down with a thump. "Must we continue using such foul language? It's putting me off my tea."

There were mumbled apologies.

"So you'll be coming with me to see Shacklebolt this morning?" Malfoy asked her.

"Of course." Hermione rubbed her eyes and leaned her head back. No time for a nap then. "It seems like you were all involved in this," she said, focusing on the room again.

Malfoy grinned. "Blaise is a bit of an Arithmancy prodigy, he did all the calculations." Blaise smiled serenely. "My mother and Theo developed most of the ritual." Narcissa ignored her son, while Theo gave a small bow from his seat on the floor. "Pansy did the research for the potion ingredients." Pansy winked. "Our resident potions expert, Mrs. Parkinson, brewed our trial batch." Persia sniffed elegantly.

Hermione didn't even attempt to wrap her mind around the fact that Persia Parkinson was a Potions expert. If asked, Hermione would have sworn the woman's head was stuffed with chiffon and silk thread. "And you, Malfoy? What's your contribution to all this?"

"I had my fingers in most everything," he answered vaguely. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh come on, Granger. Haven't you figured it out?" She stared at him, nonplussed. He gave her a feral grin. "I'm the dragon."

~8~

 _A/N: So you may have noticed how much I love Alice in Wonderland. I basically try to fit it into everything I write one way or another. Sorry. ;-)_

 _Also, I wrote a poem for you guys:_

 _Roses are nice_

 _Violets are fine._

 _But reviews make me smile,_

 _So send me a line!_


	7. To Behold a Miracle

_A/N: Many thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. I really appreciate it! Updates might be spotty for the next month as I attempt to get something original written for NaNoWriMo. Hope you guys enjoy!_

 _Also, you can find me on tumblr for questions and comments or just to chat. My blog name is cre8tivelymundane._

* * *

Chapter Seven: To Behold a Miracle

 _February 2001_

 _Paris_

 _The boy at Draco's feet was convulsing. Henri was seventeen and just graduated from Beauxbatons Academy. He was desperate to be a Legionnaire, having followed the movements of first Voldemort, and now Bellatrix, from a very young age. He was a natural leader. It had taken him less than a week to become the informal leader of the most recent group of recruits. He was also cocky. When Draco had caught the boy sneering behind his hand as Draco performed his daily inspection, punishment had been required._

 _The cruciatus was becoming less difficult by the day. With Unforgivables, just casting the curse wasn't enough; the wizard had to possess true intent to harm. In the beginning, it had been hard to muster the will to do it. Watching someone writhe and scream in pain was sickening. Speaking the curse and witnessing its effects left a bit of a stain behind. There would be an accounting of his deeds one day, he was sure. But for now, he found himself more than capable of inflicting rending, excruciating pain and walking away without an ounce of remorse._

 _Releasing the cruciatus curse, Draco observed the way the boy immediately stiffened and attempted to sit up. Good. He was strong. With the right amount of humility and fear, he would rise quickly through the ranks. Henri let out a deep moan and vomited at Draco's feet. Releasing a deep sigh, Draco ordered the boy taken to the infirmary, while he attended to his custom dragon hide boots._

* * *

Despite Granger's best efforts, the Minister of Magic had not been pleased by what he heard. Even after the curly-haired woman had shoved the copied journal under his nose and exclaimed over its importance, Shacklebolt had been unmoved. He was, in fact, irritated that he had sent his people into danger to collect something so utterly useless. Draco wondered if he had even understood half of what she was saying. Granger had attempted to summarize the research in the notebook and had even included some of the arithmantic equations, but it was still quite complicated for someone not of the academic mindset. In the end, the idea had been thrown out, Granger had stood helplessly with her short hair sparking in rage, and Draco had saved face by mentioning Bellatrix's plan to attack the castle in a matter of weeks.

It was the real reason he had requested an extraction. The attack plans had been made months before Draco even caught wind of them. Luckily, he and his friends' research had been complete when a drunken Rodolphos Lestrange had blubbered the secret information into his firewhiskey and then passed out on the table. Draco had attempted the transfiguration ritual the next day, planning his escape if he survived. Two days later, he met up with his Order contact and demanded he be removed from danger. Four days after that, he was being Apparated out of his burning library by Hermione Granger.

Draco had not been surprised when Kingsley had summarily dismissed the transfiguration magic. He was right. It was far too risky. It was dark magic. They didn't have time to fool around with something patched together by a group of useless Purebloods. Draco had momentarily considered telling the man that the "ill-conceived and untested" magic had in fact been proven through Draco himself, but Granger had caught his eye. She had subtly shook her head, silently telling him to keep his peace, and then later confessed that revealing his ability might just land him in a jail cell.

"He would never allow a former enemy with the ability to turn into a dragon to just wander about Hogwarts." She had said. "It might be better to do this in secret anyway. The last thing we need is Ronald Weasley breathing down our necks while we attempt such complicated magic."

Pansy had waxed poetic about the idiocy of the Order of the Phoenix. To his utter shock, Granger had agreed wholeheartedly, just before wishing them luck with their work assignments and then scurrying off to "take care of a few things."

" _Work_ assignments?" Pansy had squeaked.

"Zippy will take care of you!" Granger had called as she fled down the hall.

Zippy was a tiny and forceful house elf who had frowned at them disapprovingly while he handed out their tasks. Pansy had been assigned to work with Longbottom in the greenhouses. When Longbottom had appeared at the Minister's office to escort her, Pansy had objected rancorously until Zippy had threatened her with washing dishes, at which point Pansy had pasted a tight smile on her face and left with the tall man. Narcissa and Persia had been sent off to the Hospital Wing under the watchful eye of Madame Pomfrey. Draco, Theo and Blaise had been taken by Zippy to an old storeroom and then ordered to clear it out. Normally, the items would be moved by magic, but since none of them had wands, they were forced to shuttle the heavy boxes around by hand. Draco had never regretted learning to do menial spells wandlessly until he had arrived back at Hogwarts.

Now it was just after lunch, and the Purebloods were standing outside the Great Hall waiting for Longbottom. The man was to take them to the training arena. Draco was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep the rest of the day away. His muscles ached. He had at least been able to bathe before making his way down to the Great Hall for lunch. The meal had been uncomfortable, with the six former Slytherins seated at a table all to themselves, and most everyone else watching them and whispering. Ronald Weasley had been less polite, taking up a seat within Draco's eye line and playing with his wand menacingly while he laughed with his goons.

Draco tugged on the collar of his cotton shirt, hoping a bit of air on his skin might cool him down. It was mid-August and terribly humid. The sky was overcast, the dark clouds threatening a downpour. What he really wanted to do was roll his sleeves up, but then the dark blemish on his left forearm would be visible to the people already giving him dirty looks as they passed. The Mark on his arm was aching abominably. It had started hurting the day before, and was getting worse.

Pansy looked at him, guessing what was going on. "She's punishing you till she can get her hands around your neck."

"I know," he sighed, scratching at his sleeve. "Can you imagine how much furniture she's destroyed in her rage?" The idea of Bellatrix having a fit as she smashed vases and sliced through tables was amusing. He chuckled lightly.

Pansy looked at him like he was crazy. "There's nothing even remotely funny about a violent Bellatrix."

"It's a bit funny," he argued. "Especially since she can't curse me for laughing."

"For a few weeks anyway," Pansy countered. "And when she gets you in her sights again, she will be out for your blood."

Draco shrugged. He fully expected to be singled out and hunted down by his aunt. It had taken years to win back even a fraction of her trust after his family's defection at the Battle of Hogwarts. Three years in France training new recruits and winning over the French Ministry had earned him a place in her esteem, if not her inner circle. If he was being honest, he was rather glad to never have been included in that sacred number of wizards. It allowed him to complete his research without being watched too closely, and had kept him from being forced into the kinds of dark practices that corrupted completely.

Not that Draco was an innocent. He had done plenty of evil things, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn't regret very many of them. Even as a sixteen-year-old Hogwarts student, he had been fully aware that his choices would have dire consequences. In the end, he had always made the choices that kept him alive. The last seven years were no different. Every action he had taken since Hogwarts had been carefully calculated to bring him here. It had started the night a young girl sat beside him and shared a piece of fruit, silently offering him forgiveness, and ended with Bellatrix dead at his feet.

Longbottom showed them to an arena that looked a lot like a Quidditch Pitch, with tall stadium seating overlooking an oblong area with a thick layer of sand on the ground. They all trooped up into the stands in single file until they found seats that allowed a clear view of the whole arena. On the ground near the stands stood Granger and Lovegood, wands held loosely at their sides. They were laughing quietly about something, Granger gesticulating in great swooping arcs.

"Alright, 'Mione?" Neville called down to them. "Luna?"

They both looked up, shading their eyes. "Brought us an audience?" Granger shouted, sounding irritated. Lovegood waved, completely unfazed.

"What are we doing up here?" Draco demanded.

"Hermione wants you all trained for the final battle," the tall man responded. "These are the training grounds. We've got the obstacle course that way," he indicated somewhere behind him. "But this is where we practice dueling and train for melee. I thought it might be best if you got a look at how it all works before we threw you in there."

"What makes you think we need to be trained?" Narcissa's cold voice made Longbottom blink.

"Well I guess we'll be finding out," he answered genially.

Lovegood spun her wand across the palm of her hand then directed it to a large obelisk in the center of the ring. The stone lit up with blinding white light then disappeared as a forest grew out of the sand. In a matter of seconds, the entire practice pitch was wooded, with the two women standing in a clearing. There was suddenly a forest where there had only been sand.

"Wow." Blaise said admiringly.

"Who created this?" Narcissa demanded.

"'Mione and George mostly."

"George Weasley?" Draco was astounded. So the ginger was good for something other than joke wands and bloody-nose nougats.

"Yup. And it gets better."

Just then, curses started flying from the shadows. Draco started forward, reaching for his wand only to remember that it was nothing but ashes, left behind at Malfoy Manor. Longbottom caught his arm briefly.

"They can handle themselves," he said as the two women stood firm against the angry magic by casting powerful wards. Four Legionnaires stepped out of the trees, casting viciously. "It's just an illusion, mate." Longbottom said quietly. Draco yanked his arm free, embarrassed that he seemed to be the only one worried. No matter what Longbottom said, those Legionnaires looked solid and appeared to be trying to kill Granger and Lovegood. He couldn't seem to quell the hammering in his chest. Fuck, he wanted a wand.

Lovegood was moving forward, keeping up her protective barrier while Granger fired curses from behind. They weren't speaking, but they were moving in sync with one another as if they were connected. One of the Legionnaires fell to Granger's curse, his torso splitting down the center in a spray of blood. His body dissolved when it hit the ground. Persia gasped and looked away. Pansy was pale.

"Well done _diffindo,_ " Theo observed in admiration.

A second Legionnaire fell as a blasting curse shattered his ward and blew him backwards, his chest crushed. He too disappeared. Only two remained, backing up slowly as Granger and Lovegood advanced. Suddenly, Lovegood dropped the ward and the two women sprinted forward, knives drawn. The blonde witch wrapped herself around one of the enemy wizards, plunging her blade under his ribs. They both fell to the ground. Granger was a bit slower and was hit with a curse. She cast a ward at the last minute, but was thrown backwards through the air. Expecting her to land broken on the ground, Draco was astounded when she slowed herself mid air and flipped to the ground on all fours, sliding backwards a few feet before stopping. She launched herself forward again, raising her hand above shoulder. He didn't even notice her throw the knife until it was embedded in the enemy's throat. There was silence in the stands as the last Legionnaire dissolved into the dirt and the forest faded away, leaving the two women standing on the sandy floor of the training pitch.

"Well fuck me." Pansy's exclamation earned her a slap on the shoulder from her mother.

Lovegood collected their blades, calling to her partner over her shoulder. Granger threw back her head and laughed, dusting her pants clean. By the Gods she was powerful. Dangerous. Draco ignored the odd sensation that flooded his body at the sound of her laughter. He silently followed his people out of the stands.

There was a table set up at the bottom of the stairs with eight wands laid out neatly in a row. Granger and Lovegood were waiting for them there.

"It's all I could find on short notice," Granger apologized, adding her own spare wand to the lineup. "Hopefully you all can find one that will work for you."

"You're arming us?" Persia exclaimed.

"How else are you going to fight?" Granger sighed. "Besides, we can't do complex and delicate transfiguration magic that might very well kill us- and all in secret- if we're all sharing my wand."

"Does Shacklebolt know about this?" Draco asked her casually, trying to conceal his astonishment.

"Nope." Granger was studying the wands, avoiding his eyes. The simmering anger at her leader's choices was still there, right under the surface of her skin. It was amazing to him that she could be so upset by something that affected her not at all. It would be easy for her to abandon them to their fate and complete the potion and ritual by herself. She was more than capable. Instead, she fought for them. He wondered how much trouble she would catch when the Minister found out.

"I'm not sure what the cores are made of," she continued. "But we find the wand of a dead wizard is less picky about its new owner. So there's bound to be at least one that will work for each of you."

Eight random wands plucked from the fingers of a dead soldier. It was enough to make Draco curl his nose in disgust. For some reason, the idea of wielding a wand from someone whom he might have killed was disturbing. In the end, none of the wands were perfect, but everyone found one that was serviceable. Granger gave him a small grin when he reluctantly settled on her spare wand. He scowled back at her.

In the meantime, Longbottom had set up several stuffed figures some distance away. He settled the last one into the sand with his wand and the jogged back towards them. "Practice time." He said with a smile.

The first attempts at using their new wands were less than impressive. Pansy, in particular, was having some difficulty performing any magic more complex than a weak _lumos_. After several attempts to destroy the dummy nearest her, she screeched and threw the second-hand wand on the ground.

"Don't act like such a child," Persia scolded her, casually lighting her dummy on fire.

"Oh do shut up, mother," Pansy snapped, bending over to swipe the offending length of wood from the sand. Draco fought the urge to laugh as Granger approached the furious woman.

"Try a cutting charm," she advised.

Pansy rolled her eyes but complied. The simple spell shot from the tip of her wand and left a slice in the the fabric of the dummy, which promptly sealed itself back up.

"Well done!" Draco thought Granger might be laying it on a bit thick. Pansy apparently agreed.

"Fantastic," she deadpanned. "I can kill them all with paper cuts."

Granger came to stand behind the taller woman and held her wand up in front of both of them, mimicking the charm movements. "This is diffindo," she said. "When you add a push at the end of the second swish, it becomes deadly."

She demonstrated, sending a blast of magic that split the dummy in half, much like the false Legionnaire in the practice ring. Pansy's face lit up. "Now _that_ I can learn!"

Leaving Pansy to her devilish game, Granger moved closer to Draco, studying his technique. He tried not to notice her standing next to him. He was more than capable of wielding a wand in a fight, but the unfamiliar length of wood in his hand was giving him trouble. The jinxes he was throwing at his target were swinging wide, and less powerful than he wished. Instead of commenting on his lack of expertise, she merely nodded in satisfaction, sat at his feet and started cleaning her knife.

"Why knives?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Granger kept her curly head focused on her blade. "Magical wards tend to repel magic, not physical objects, mostly because wizards don't expect physical attacks. It's sometimes faster to attack with a blade than a curse, especially if their ward is well made." She shrugged. "They're just as dead either way."

Draco was having a rough time reconciling this Hermione Granger with the one he had known before. In the few days since his rescue, she had been strong, sure, but never cold. Something told him her laissez faire attitude towards killing wasn't completely honest. And throwing a curse at someone across a battlefield was very different than watching them bleed from a few feet away. Had she ever put a blade through someone's heart and watched the life leave their eyes? The thought was chilling.

About half an hour passed before Longbottom spoke up. "There's only so much you can do with dummies," he said to Granger. "Should we take them to the obstacle course?"

Granger stood, having slumped backwards comfortably while she watched the Purebloods practice. "No we're not really training today, I just wanted them to get a feel for their wands."

"Does this mean we get to go inside now?" This from Pansy, who had a thin sheen of sweat on her lip.

"An excellent question," Persia agreed. "It's far too hot to be standing about."

"We're 'Keying to another location," Granger explained, sliding her wand into its sheath. She looked at Draco. "I want to see the dragon."

The other location turned out to be a barren hilltop surrounded by mountains. Draco wasn't sure where they were, but he knew it was nowhere in England. He moved away from the group, suddenly nervous. What if the first time had been a fluke? What if he couldn't reproduce the magic properly? The first ritual had been long and involved. According to the theory, and Blaise's expert Arthimancy, subsequent transformations only required a simple incantation.

" _Trabeadraki Formus._ "

It was painful. Not in the way of a cruciatus or a cutting curse, but in the way of bones and muscles and tendons growing too quickly and reshaping themselves. It was a deep ache that buried itself in his flesh and bones and didn't let go until he was the size of a small house. The first sensation in his new form was power. He stretched his wings out luxuriously, revelling in the stretch and pull of so many new muscles. It was still a bit awkward, like putting on shoes that were far too big, so despite the sudden urge to leap into the sky, he settled with a few grand flaps of his wings. The last thing he needed was to fall flat on his snout in front of an audience.

It was a very strange thing, this transformation. He had only attempted it once before, but his body recognized the form almost immediately. The shape of the dragon was odd- pleasing, yet cumbersome. The increased input from his senses was dizzying. He could see, hear, and smell like never before. His wings picked up tiny vibrations in the air that his human brain didn't quite know what to make of. Scales moved differently than skin. He felt them rub against each other as he moved. His mouth was full of teeth, all of them pointed, ready to rip into a smaller living thing. There were deer in the forest. He could smell them. He wanted to chase them down and feast on their flesh.

The most surprising part of his new shape was the palpable presence of the Dragon. The first time he had realized with what he was sharing this new body, he was astounded. He was still Draco, still a human in the body of a huge reptile, but there was a part of his psyche dedicated entirely to the animal. There were no records of this kind of dual cognizance in either an Animagus shift or in transfigurations. The closest experience he could find was to that of werewolves, who sometimes reported the presence of an alternate, more base, consciousness. The Dragon stirred in his mind. It decoded the strange signals coming from his new senses, provided him the instinctual knowledge he needed to move on four legs and flap his wings, but it also delicately clawed at the back of Draco's civilized mind with its barbaric desires. Feed. Fight. Fuck.

The Dragon had scented her. Hermione. Cotton, parchment, ink, strawberries from her breakfast, sandalwood and oranges from her hair, and the incredible warmth coming from her very skin. It was a scent he had picked up vaguely in her room as a human, now increased tenfold and floating to him on the breeze. He swung to face her and saw that she had come closer to him. The Dragon was pleased. Her big brown eyes were gazing at him with rank admiration. He felt an indescribable need to show her his magnificence. Rearing up and expanding his wings out wide, he let out a great howl of approval at her nearness, at her very existence. The Dragon wanted to pick her up, fly away and find a nice cave in which to shower her with gold and jewels.

Fucking hell! Coming down on all fours again, Draco spotted Pansy just behind Granger, looking at him with a knowing smile. If he had been human, he probably would have been lit up with humiliation at his display. As it was, Draco felt slightly foolish, but the Dragon chided him for this useless human emotion. There was no shame in flaunting one's assets for one's mate. FUCKING. HELL. Her scent was driving him mad! He blew out a rough breath to clear his nose and decided they had seen enough. He needed to get the fuck away from the Dragon and his animalistic urges. He shook his head and tried to clear the scent from his nostrils.

Tamping down the panic that was pressing against his human mind, he allowed the spell to end. It was like dropping a heavy burden after a carrying it for a long period. He felt light, his muscles almost floating. He also felt the lack of his heightened senses. His world was covered in a thick layer of cotton. But he could no longer smell her, no longer wanted to drag her to the ground and fuck her blind. Donning his usual arrogant grin, hoping it didn't look too forced, he waited for the applause to roll in.

* * *

He was beautiful. Terrifying and huge, but absolutely gorgeous. His body was formed much like a Welsh Green, but at the same time, was like no dragon that had ever existed in the magical world. He was white, his scales shimmering in the sun like an opal. A long ruff of pearlescent spikes ran from between his eyes down to his tail. When he stretched his wings, Hermione could see the slight blush of pink at the base of the batlike appendages where they met his back. His talons were black, as were the sharp spikes at the tips of his wings and the two long teeth protruding from his mouth.

Unconsciously, she stepped forward. When he swung his head to study her, she saw that his eyes were still the exact same shade of pale grey as his human form. His nostrils flared, sucking in the air around her. He reared back on his hind legs and flapped his wings smugly, letting out a loud, reptilian bark. Neville shouted a warning, but somehow, she knew he was showing off, completely aware of his own beauty. An unwilling grin tugged at her mouth as he settled back to the ground with a grunt. Hermione shook her head at his antics, so completely in line with his human personality. There was a dragon standing in front of her, but it was obviously still Malfoy.

It hit her full force. This was it. This was the end of the war. Bellatrix was coming for them, and when she arrived with her army, they would be ready to fight back. Never before had Hermione allowed herself to plan for victory. The odds against them were too great. She had prepared for death, knowing that even as they fought to their last breath, the Order would fall in the face of the Black Dragon and her Legion of Blood. Now they had a chance to win. Instead of panicked, she suddenly felt powerful.

Malfoy shook his dragon head and let out something like a sneeze. Suddenly, there was a man standing where the beast had been.

"Well?" he smirked, expecting exalted congratulations.

Neville gave a whoop and ran forward to envelope the blonde in a hug, only to pull back at the last minute and clap him heartily on the shoulder. Luna was watching from the outskirts, wary but obviously intrigued. The Purebloods were smug. Hermione was attempting to calm the erratic thumping of her heart, overcome by what she had just witnessed.

"We need to start the potion as soon as possible," Persia was saying. "It takes two weeks to brew and we are running short on time."

"Meditations can take several days after the potion has been consumed," Narcissa added.

"The ritual can be prepared in the meantime." Theo was fiddling with his new wand, anxious to get started.

"We need to decide who besides Hermione is going to attempt it." Blaise interjected. "I'll run some calculations to see who is most likely to survive." He turned a blindly smile on Hermione, who blinked stupidly. "Obviously you're more than capable."

"So we're going to walk into Slughorn's lab and. . . and then what?" Neville scratched his head. "We can't tell him the truth."

"We won't need to," Hermione offered, triumphant. "I have a lab we can use."


	8. To Tell a Lie

_A/N: And we're back! Thanks for your patience!_

Chapter Eight: To Tell a Lie

 _February 2001_

 _Safe House, Wiltshire_

 _Luna's hair had grown past her waist. It was getting impossible to keep it out of her way. Luna had thought about cutting it all off, but there was a faint memory buried deep in her mind in which her mother brushed it while singing softly. As silly as it seemed, Luna feared that if she cut her hair, she might lose one of the few memories of her mother that weren't filled with loss and sadness. And so, Luna tried to keep her serene demeanor while Angelina Johnson scraped her hair into tiny rows braided tightly against her head. She was positive her scalp was bleeding._

" _It looks amazing, Luna!" Hermione exclaimed._

" _You're next," Angelina warned. "You're hair is almost as curly as mine, Hermione. We should have done this months ago."_

 _Hermione paled, taking in Luna's tightly controlled grimace of pain as her head was yanked to the side. "Ah, that's okay. A normal french braid is enough for me."_

 _Angelina laughed. "What a coward," she teased. "Beauty is pain, darlings."_

 _Yank._

* * *

The potion's lab was not so much a lab as a table and a cauldron in a dusty old room. All seven of them herded into the tiny space before breakfast the morning after Draco's side-show shape shifting act. Apparently, amongst the many other things Granger had taken care of over the last two days, one was clearing out a room in their shared hall in the lower level of the castle. Pansy sneezed at the scent of moldering paper. Half of the small room was stacked to the rafters with old potions books, obscuring a bit of the single, lake view window. The newly freed half of the room held a few stuffed chairs, a long table and an ancient iron cauldron.

"Did you fish this out of the lake?" Draco sneered, running a finger along the lip of the cauldron bowl and then wiping the digit on his trousers.

"Such volatile ingredients could never be brewed in such a thing," Persia pursed her lips and cast a disdainful eye around the room. "I need one of solid gold."

Narcissa sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Persia."

Granger frowned, narrowing her eyes. "I didn't see any ingredients that needed to be brewed in a golden cauldron." She pulled out her copied journal and started flipping through the pages feverishly. "Did I miss a potentially dangerous interaction?"

Pansy pulled it from her grasp and rolled her eyes. "Calm down, you didn't miss anything. My mother is being a snob."

"Iron breaks down the magical signature of Gussywig fibers." Persia defended herself.

Granger looked panicked and reached for the book, but Pansy held it out of her reach.

"Mother," she complained. "Stop torturing her. She has an obsessive compulsion to be right. You always said we should be kind to the disabled."

Granger frowned at her. "I just want things to be orderly," the woman grumbled. "And accurate."

Persia gave a long-suffering sigh. "A brass cauldron will take longer to brew, but will do fine."

Granger still looked a bit wild around the eyes. "A _brass_ cauldron?" she repeated. It was obvious that the dented- and slightly crusty- iron monstrosity was the only brewing vessel available.

"Does the Order not have even the most basic brewing supplies?" Draco scoffed.

"The Order has plenty," she snapped. "But since this little enterprise has been strictly forbidden by the leader of said organization, I can't exactly waltz into Slughorn's lab and take what we need without landing in chains."

"Ridiculous," Draco huffed under his breath.

"Take it easy, Drake," Theo interjected.

"I wish we could use this-" Persia indicated the cauldron and swallowed her derision. " _Lovely_ device, but unfortunately it just won't do. The potion will take 27 days to brew properly if we use this ghastly iron thing, not to mention the inferior quality of the potion. If you want it finished with a safe margin for your meditations and ritual preparation, it must be brass, copper, or gold."

Granger's shoulders slumped. "In that case, I'll just have to get one."

"And how are you going to do that?" Draco was leaning negligently against the wall near the door, but he pinned Granger with an icy glare.

Granger knotted her brow at him. "I'm sure there are a couple brass cauldrons stashed away somewhere," she said vaguely as she turned away to collect a stack of parchment.

Pansy leaned into Draco and snatched at his sleeve. "What is your problem?" she hissed quietly at him. He shrugged off her hand and gave her a cold glare.

Meanwhile, Granger had turned back to them. "I've transcribed the potion-"

"Fangjuice," Theo interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?"

Theo nudged Blaise, who rolled his eyes affectionately. "We're calling it Fangjuice. Like Polyjuice, but with fangs."

"Very clever," Hermione answered faintly, and then continued. "I've copied _Fangjuice_ in its entirety for better clarity. Everyone gets a copy." She handed the stack to Blaise, who took one off the top and passed it to Theo. They both looked incredibly amused. When Pansy received her copy, she saw that the parchment was pocket sized, charmed against water damage, and color coded. "Like I said before, we can't just request the ingredients we need. This is secret, and illegal. I want to go over the plan to attain all the ingredients so we can get started as soon as possible. I've got ingredient assignments for everyone so we can divide up and get it done faster, and hopefully, go unnoticed."

The neatly written ingredients were divided into two categories:

 _TO BE BORROWED FROM SLUGHORN_

 _Lacewing flies_

 _Leeches_

 _Powdered bicorn horn_

 _Knotgrass_

 _Fluxweed_

 _Shredded Boomslang Skin_

 _TO BE COLLECTED_

 _Blue-Spotted Mushrooms- Theo and Blaise_

 _Torchflower Pollen- Neville, Pansy, and Luna_

 _Gussywig Fibers- Narcissa and Persia_

 _Dragon's Blood- Draco and Hermione_

Pansy saw that she had been assigned to collect the Torchflower pollen with Longbottom. There was a Torchflower plant on Hogwarts grounds? A thrill of excitement ran through her, only partially doused by the knowledge that she would need to spend more time with the Neville the Wonder Farmer in order to see it. But even though she protested loudly, she was thoroughly enjoying her time in the Greenhouses. Hiding her affection for Herbology while at Hogwarts had been easy, but choosing not to take the course during sixth and seventh years had been difficult to bear. Now she found that she could dig her hands in the dirt and play with magical plants to heart's content, and all she had to do was complain about it to hide her interest.

"We can get the ingredients normally used in Polyjuice from Slughorn's lab as long as we do it secretly," Granger was saying.

"So when you say 'get,' you mean steal?" Pansy wanted Granger to admit it. She was having way too much fun with this new side of the stuffy swot.

"Yes." The curly haired woman colored slightly.

"Won't that be dangerous?" Narcissa asked. "Even if you can get into his lab to steal what we need, surely someone would notice the theft?"

"We brew Polyjuice a lot, so there should be enough of each ingredient available that our small portion will go unnoticed for a time. By the time they realize what's missing, we'll be breathing fire. They're welcome to attempt an arrest at that point."

"How very Slytherin." Theo grinned at her.

Granger huffed impatiently and continued. "The other ingredients are a bit harder to come by."

* * *

Narcissa and Persia found themselves sneaking into the Hospital Wing's dispensary early the next morning to retrieve their assigned ingredient. Gussywig Fibers were harvested from the Gussywig Fern, a plant only found in the sparse and remote habitats of Hungarian Horntails. The dragons used the huge fronds to line their nests, as the plant was naturally fire resistant. The normally frozen environment of the Carpathians were kept temperate by the biological heat of the dragons, allowing the Ferns to flourish. Wizards used the plant to make bandages that helped draw the cursed heat from dragonfire burns. The fibers were incredibly expensive and hard to find. According to Hermione Granger, the Order kept a small stock of the bandages made of Gussywig Fibers should any person suffer a burn from Bellatrix's Animagus form.

Persia was pretending to count jars of Cooling Paste while Narcissa surreptitiously stuffed two rolls of the burn bandages into her blouse. She was reminded of her fourth year at Hogwarts when it seemed that every girl but Narcissa Black had blossomed into womanhood over the summer holidays. An older Slytherin boy by the name of Lucius Malfoy was strutting through the halls, and Narcissa had been instructed by her father to attract the Pureblood's attention. Stuffing her lamentably tiny brassiere with rolled up socks had seemed like the only solution. If only she had known the full scope of her choices at the tender age of fifteen.

"Oh, I am so glad to see you two!"

The sound of Poppy Pomfrey's shrill declaration sent Narcissa skittering into Persia's shoulder as she hastily tucked the trailing end of a bandage roll into the neck of her robes. This was ridiculous, she silently huffed. She felt harried from all the subterfuge and had to reign in the impulse to pat her hair down. Narcissa heard the clacking of the woman's approaching footsteps and looked up from her cleavage to see the neatly stacked rows of bandages had crumbled into a messy pile. Meeting Persia's eyes for a terse moment, Narcissa moved to bodily block the obviously pilfered jumble from Pomfrey's sight. Both women turned to the healer with wide smiles.

"You sound surprised, Poppy," Persia purred innocently. "Were we not scheduled to help today?"

"Who knows?" Pomfrey groused. "With all the preparations for the upcoming battle, I've been running around like a hippogriff with its head cut off. But I am always happy to have extra hands, especially ones as competent as yours."

"You're too kind," Narcissa simpered.

"Is everything in order here?" The healer's sharp eyes took in the storage closet briefly.

Narcissa silently ran through a litany of excuses for the wads of precious fabric pressed against her breasts while keeping her face completely guileless. "So far, so good," she answered coolly.

"Excellent." Pomfrey turned on her heel. "Once you're done with inventory in this cabinet, please move on to the linens." She stalked away muttering to herself, her grey hair sticking haphazardly out from under her cap.

"This is absolutely absurd!" Narcissa complained, swiftly reordering the bandages. "Sneaking about as if we were children with our hands caught in the cookie jar!"

"I think it's quite exciting." Persia was grinning, her face flushed with pleasure.

"You will never speak a word about this to anyone," Narcissa demanded. "I won't have my dignity besmirched."

The two women went to work on the legitimate task of taking inventory of the various salves and potions in the closet.

"Are you going to tell Draco about the Granger girl?" Persia queried after a moment.

Narcissa sighed. "And what would I say? He knows what happens to captives at the Mansion."

If there was ever a conversation that Narcissa would avoid until her dying breath, it was that one. Since that night in the Great Hall after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco had experienced a queer obsession over the movements of Hermione Granger. Going to France as a recruiter for the Legion had kept him occupied for a time, but the events that had transpired while he was gone were deeply troubling for him. He had been unaware of his mother's involvement until just a few days ago, and Narcissa intended to keep him far from any further information. It made Narcissa queasy to imagine the look on his face should he discover even a fraction of what the Granger woman had suffered at the hands of his aunt and uncle.

"He's upset with you." Persia stated.

"Upset," Narcissa chuckled without humor. "What an understatement. He hasn't looked at me directly since we left Malfoy Manor."

"It might help if you told him the details. You have no reason to be ashamed."

Narcissa scoffed. "My actions at the home of my sister may have been noble, but my choices up to that point were more than shameful. Draco has every right to be angry with me for keeping him in the dark, and I will not use my single act of penance to ease my discomfort."

"You took great risk for that girl." There was a question in Persia's tone.

" _That girl_ had every reason to hate my family. A few words from her could have ruined us and it would have been justified. Instead, she was willing to sacrifice the good opinion of her friends to help us. You know what that small thing meant to us. To Draco. If things had turned out differently, her subtle act of friendship would have made the difference between freedom and Azkaban. Whatever I have done for her was only to balance the scales."

Persia took that with a shrug of acceptance. If there was something the Pureblooded wife of a Death Eater could understand, it paying one's debts. "I still think you should tell him. But I am also a firm believer in lying to your children when it is necessary and for their own protection."

"One day there will be a reckoning in which all my secrets will come back to haunt me," Narcissa said softly. "Until then, allow me to shelter my son for a while longer."

* * *

The Blue-Spotted Mushrooms had been ridiculously easy to obtain. After the initial horror that swept through the ranks of the kitchen elves at the sight of two wizards entering their sacred space, they had been more than happy to be of assistance. Theo had explained his need to a tiny and shriveled elf named Paisley.

"I steep the mushroom in my tea to help me sleep."

The lie was perfect because the fungus could legitimately be used as a sleep aid, but it was not popular since it also tended to cause intense and prophetic dreams in humans. At first, Paisley was suspicious, and unwilling to part with his secret stash of mind altering mushrooms-which he sliced into his stew when he wanted to take a small holiday-but softened noticeably when Blaise produced a large skein of dyed lamb's wool.

"They never have enough to knit their smocks," Hermione had explained when she handed it to Blaise. "Paisley in particular likes this shade of pink. It should buy you enough mushrooms to complete the potion."

And indeed, the small house elf snatched the wool from the tall man's fingers and shuffled over to a nest of old linens. "Not many wizards know of the mushroom's great healing powers, no they do not," Paisley praised them as he dug through his small collection of possessions. "Prefer No Dreaming Potion. If mushrooms working for elves, they is working for Wizards also."

Theo tucked the small bundle of mushrooms into his shirt and bowed to the castle elf. "Many thanks, Paisley. I will surely sleep well tonight."

Paisley gave them both a wide smile and shuffled off, cradling his new skein of wool like a child.

"You lie so well," Blaise laughed at him as they left the kitchens.

"Turns you on does it?" Theo grinned at him.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him speculatively. "It does," he purred, sending Theo the kind of smile he knew went straight to Theo's pants.

Blaise looked around briefly, his amber colored eyes taking in the empty pantry, and then pushed Theo through the open door, smashing their lips together. The feeling of Blaise's mouth on his was achingly familiar and enough to set his head spinning. Even after eight years, Theo was still astounded that the beautiful, intelligent, imperturbable Blaise Zabini was _his_. Studious and quiet, fading into the background in fear of his raging temper, Theo had always been in awe of Blaise. When the eleven-year-old Blaise had swept into the Hogwarts Express compartment that held Draco, Theo, and Pansy, he had done so as if completely assured of his welcome. He had sat next to Theo with his coffee colored skin and long, graceful hands. He had complimented Theo's signet ring with a perfect white smile and had earned himself an admirer for life.

It had taken years of painful friendship while Theo watched Blaise make his way through multiple casual relationships with both men and women before the man had realized his plain, rather shy best friend was what he wanted most. Theo remembered the day Blaise had cornered him in a dark hallway and pressed up against him, much as he was doing now, whispering words of love and wanting. It had been a revelation of crashing feelings and exploding sensations. Since that day, Theo had belonged to Blaise heart and soul.

Being in the service of a genocidal maniac and her insane wizard posse had put stress on both of them. They were often apart, but when they reunited, they were reminded of why they stayed true to each other, why they risked so much to end the reign of the Black Dragon. Theo could see a future in which their sins were wiped clean by a pair of bright brown eyes- or green or blue, it didn't really matter- in the smiling face of a child who called them family. He would be the best father he could, and never let his child feel a moment of terror, of horrible, clutching pain. The little witch or wizard would be a Nott, and Theo would spend the rest of his life making the name worthy of sitting on the shoulders of their child.

"I love you," Blaise gasped as their mouths parted. The words, just like the kiss, still sent a thrill through Theo's heart.

"I love you, too," Theo replied, pressing their foreheads together.

* * *

Torchflower was a rare plant, and was, as it turned out, not on Hogwarts grounds. The only place to find it, besides the posh and well-guarded magical nurseries of London, was the Forbidden Forest. Not only was it hidden in the depths of a dark and deadly wood, but it was also contained within the territory of the centaurs. Granger had assured Pansy that the centaurs were mostly friendly since the Order had moved into Hogwarts- the presence of the rebellion keeping a Pureblooded Wizengamot from hunting the half-breeds to extinction. It was the word _mostly_ that was giving Pansy the most trouble, followed closely by the fact that Luna Lovegood was to be their liaison with the historically touchy creatures.

Neville Longbottom seemed unconcerned that his life was in the hands of a woman who slept in a tree and muttered to herself under her breath. Pansy, on the other hand, was terrified. Apparently, the blonde woman saved Prince Helgerian's life six years ago, and was confident that the beasts would not only _not_ kill them on sight, but would allow the three humans to invade their territory and collect pollen from one of the rarest flowers on earth. When Pansy voiced her misgivings about the trustworthiness of Lovegood, the unconcern of Longbottom, and the entire fucking plan as a whole, Granger had merely smiled at her.

"You are one of maybe three people that can complete the transformation and help win the war," the woman had said. "Do you really think I'd risk your life _before_ I can get you on a battlefield?"

The sheer Slytherin nature of Granger's argument managed to put Pansy at ease, right up until she stepped foot over that invisible boundary that separated Hogwarts from the Forest. It was just after sunset when she felt the castle wards slither across her skin, and the atmospheric charm that kept the crops warm fell away. Suddenly, she was cold and unprotected, walking into certain danger and accompanied by an insane killer and a lumbering oaf. Her unease ratcheted into full blown panic when sometime later, the group of humans were surrounded by five centaurs, bows nocked and ready.

"Take us to Helgerian," Lovegood requested in her eerily soft voice.

Four centaurs faded back into the trees, while one grunted and turned down the path. He was all brown fur, tanned skin, and long brown hair. Pansy supposed that was permission to follow. Luna was muttering angrily under her breath. "Wasting my life debt. . . half-baked witchcraft. . . fucking insane."

They started walking single-file down the narrow trail, wands raised and lit with a _lumos_ charm. Neville looked at her over his shoulder.

"Keep your eye open for Devil's Snare," he said in his northern drawl. "It's all over this part of the forest."

At Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom had been shy, forgetful, and rather bad at magic. Seventh year had seen him mature and take charge, protecting the younger students from the Death Eaters that had taken control of the school, but even then he had been clumsy and uncertain. Neville had been a loser, right up until the moment he stood in front of Voldemort, declaring his undying loyalty to Harry Potter and wielding the Sword of Gryffindor. At that moment, he had become a hero.

When Hagrid had brought the limp body of Potter into the Great Hall, Pansy had been hiding within a small cluster of Slytherins smuggled back into the castle by Slughorn. She knew she was officially an outcast after her panicked, and rather loud, suggestion that the Chosen One be handed over to Voldemort. But she would be damned if she would cower in Hogsmeade while there was a battle going on. Even if she had to kill her Death Eater father with her own wand, she was going to help defeat the monster who had made her life miserable for three years. Then Neville had sliced the head off Nagini and Potter had killed the Dark Lord in a duel. And then instead of getting better, things had gone _completely_ to shit.

Over the last three days, Pansy had come to see the new Neville Longbottom. There were two other wizards who worked in the greenhouses with Pansy, one of whom talked incessantly, and she learned from him that Neville was singly responsible for all the agriculture on Hogwarts grounds. The responsibility sat easily on his shoulders, for he walked with the assurance of a man who knew his own worth, who had fought and won battles, who feared little and wanted even less. Pansy found herself watching him more often than was strictly necessary while they worked together. His hands were large, with darkly lined callouses and dirt under his fingernails. He met her complaints with quiet amusement. He had a way of putting her at ease, of smoothing down her prickly nature with his good humor and patience. Growing up in with Dark Wizards around every corner, Pansy was unfamiliar with the feeling of contentment.

In fact, she had grown so comfortable in his presence, that while they had potted medicine ferns together the day before, Pansy had set her wand on a nearby table and not realized it was missing until she was fifteen pots away and needed it to cleanse her dirty hands. She had stood, immobilized with shock as she stared at a weapon she had never- besides the recent four days she went without- let out of her reach. Pansy rejected the natural conclusion, that she felt so safe in the company of this oafish Gryffindor that her mind simply stopped working. It was dangerous. Pansy didn't like it one bit.

Entering a wide clearing, the small group found themselves once again surrounded by armed centaurs. Prince Helgerian met them with thinly veiled impatience. He was dark, his human half like the blackest coffee, his bright copper colored eyes shining out from the darkness of his face, while his animal half was shining ebony.

He glared down at the three of them from his superior height. "Why have you trespassed on our sacred territory, little magical humans?"

"I'm calling in my life debt." Luna said without preamble.

Pansy would swear she saw the princely beast wince. "And what do you demand of me, Soulless One?"

Luna didn't blink at the unpleasant appellation. "We need access to a rare plant within your territory."

"A rare plant?"

Neville stepped forward then. "I need to collect some pollen from your Torchflower."

Grumbles went through the centaurs surrounding them. Neither Luna nor Neville seemed perturbed by the increase in tension. Pansy stepped a bit closer to Neville, soaking up his strength and praying he didn't notice the movement.

Helgerian stopped the noise with an upheld hand. "And this will fulfill my debt to you?"

"Yes," Luna affirmed, though she looked as if she'd swallowed something sour. Pansy wondered how long it had take Hermione to convince her piratical friend to call in such a great debt, and in pursuit of magic of which Luna was skeptical.

"Very well." Helgerian nodded. "Kallax will take you."

The brown centaur from before shifted unhappily on his hooves, but bowed to his leader and set off to the south, the three humans trailing him. It took about half an hour of tramping through twisted trees and avoiding the whip like stems of Devil's Snare before they reached it. Down at the bottom of a gully, hidden by hanging moss and ivy, was the Torchflower.

It was a low growing bush with long, floppy leaves. The flower grew from the base of the plant on an incredibly high stalk, this particular bloom was as tall as Neville. At the top of the stalk was the crimson, cup-shaped flower that gave the plant its name. The bloom emanated a glittering yellow light, and released tiny grains of glowing pollen into the air. The pollen was blazingly hot, and sizzled when it met the damp ground below, leaving a wide circumference of scorched earth around the plant. There were Hinky Moths swarming around the lighted flower, attracted to the unearthly glow, their silver wings delicately swooping past the heated motes.

Neville pulled a glass jar from his shoulder bag and moved closer to the Torchflower. Suddenly, Pansy had a memory of Neville in Potions with his cauldron in pieces and his face covered in smoke. "Maybe I should get the pollen," she blurted. They really couldn't afford to waste this opportunity if he had an attack of his old clumsiness.

His brow creased, but he paused. "I can handle it."

Swallowing her objections, Pansy nodded.

"They have to be hot when we add them to potion," Pansy called to him as he descended into the gully.

"I'll cast a stasis charm," he reassured her.

Despite his assurances, a bit of hot pollen sizzled into his shoulder as he stepped into the charred radius of the plant's reach. He cursed and batted it away. Heaving a great sigh, Pansy cast a protection charm over his head like an umbrella. Instead of being embarrassed, Neville turned to her with a wide smile of appreciation.

"Thank you," he chuckled.

The men Pansy knew would be irritated that they had been caught unprepared, and would have sniped at her. What did one say to a man who took his mistakes in stride?

"Perhaps you should try a gentle summoning charm?" she offered delicately. The soft words almost stuck in her throat.

"Very gentle," Neville agreed. He readied the jar by removing the lid. "Accio pollen," he whispered.

A single mote of flaming pollen leapt from the top of the flower and came barreling towards the tall wizard, who ducked instinctively. It landed on Pansy's neck, and immediately slithered down the front of her shirt. A burning trail of pain blossomed. Pansy yelped and pulled the shirt away from her body, letting the thing hit the dirt with a sizzle. Neville was by her side instantly while Luna looked on disinterestedly.

"Alright, Pansy?" He gripped the side of her face and tilted her head so he could see the burn along her neck with worried blue eyes. So bloody blue. "Sorry about that."

Pansy's heart was thudding in her chest. "I'm fine," she replied. Did that sound breathless? For fuck's sake. "Just get the damned pollen so we can get out of here."

The second try was more successful. A glowing orb was floating in the glass jar and put under a stasis spell. Neville tucked it into his bag and the three of them left. Pansy's burn was throbbing and the fabric of her shirt was brushing against it often enough to cause pain. There had better not be a scar, she swore silently. The Forest had begun to thin when they were come upon by a new centaur. It was their former Divination Professor, Firenze.

"Has the pale dragon appeared?" He gasped as he reached them. "It was foretold that the three dragons-who-are-not-dragons would bring about the end of the war."

Pansy, Neville and Luna stared at him.

"That is why you have come for the Flaming Flower," he insisted. "I have Seen it in the stars"

"What else have you Seen?" Luna demanded.

Firenze became guarded. "Only that the dragons will tip the balance. Before when there was only death and loss, there is now light."

"Why didn't you tell us what you had seen before now?" Neville asked. "We could have started this process years ago. We could have _ended_ this years ago!"

"Everything has its right time," Firenze intoned. "And we don't involve ourselves in the affairs of humans."

"You'd better start involving yourselves," Neville snarled. It was the most angry- most _anything-_ Pansy had ever seen him. "Because the Order is the only thing standing between centaurs and the Legion. Without us you would already be hunted to extinction. If we fall, you're next."

* * *

 _A/N: Reviews are much appreciated!_


	9. To Ride a Broom

_A/N: Just a warning: the flashbacks are going to be pretty dark for the next few chapters._

 _Also, welcome to all the new followers! It's still incredible to think that anyone wants to read this!_

 _Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, you guys really help me focus my energy to get these chapters out in a timely manner._

 _There was an anon review that requested more info on Luna. I've answered that question on tumblr, where everybody can reach me for questions or comments or whatever. (cre8tivelymundane) I've also joined twitter (excuse me while I throw up) cre8ivelymndane._

* * *

Chapter Nine: To Fly a Broom

 _March 2001_

 _Lestrange Mansion_

 _The Lestrange Mansion had dungeons. Not cellars with heavily reinforced doors like Malfoy Manor, or a moldering stone basement like Hogwarts, but real dungeons. They were well-designed and fairly clean. Each cell had a blanket which kept off the chill and a bucket which was magically emptied every morning. Hermione lay on the cold stone floor of her cell, her face pressed against the wall. There was a tiny vent at the meeting of the wall and floor, and it was the only thing connecting her to Luna, who was in the cell next to her. At first, Hermione had been puzzled as to why the two of them would be put in adjacent rooms with a hole through which they could communicate, until she realized the hole was so they could hear each other scream._

 _Luna was sobbing. The cell door had just slammed shut and she was alone now. Hermione scratched at the vent, which was barely large enough to fit three fingers through, her toes grappling at the drain in the floor for purchase. No matter how she yanked and scraped and pulled, the hole never got an larger, and she never got any closer to her friend._

" _Luna!" she shouted over the weeping. "I'm here! Luna come to the vent in the wall."_

 _There wasn't much that Hermione could see, but she knew there was blood. It was under Luna's fingernails as they clutched at each other, their first two fingers wrapped tight. Hermione winced. The ring and pinky finger of her hand were broken for certain. She was also having trouble seeing out of her right eye, the flesh swollen and throbbing. It was those injuries upon which Hermione focused, desperate to ignore the stinging ache in her abdomen and between her thighs._

 _Luna was gasping for air._

" _Control your breathing, soldier," Hermione demanded, struggling with her own sickening fear. "Don't fall to pieces. That's what they want. They want to hear us suffer."_

 _Luna hiccuped. "It hurts," she cried. "D-d-distract me."_

 _Hermione cast about for something, anything that could keep both their minds off of what was happening, of what was sure to continue happening until they died. "I've been contemplating words that begin with the letter H. Could you help me?"_

 _The Ravenclaw coughed in disbelief._ " _H-h-abit. H-homogenous. Harmony. . ."_

* * *

Hermione watched Neville, Luna and Pansy fade into the Forbidden Forest as the sky darkened and silently wished them well. She wanted to go with them and see the Torchflower, but she had another mission to accomplish, and it was to be done tonight. Malfoy was to meet her in the village green when he was finished at the castle. They both had spent the the day locked in the old stone keep, Hermione in battle councils, and Malfoy finally completing his debriefing. Judging from the momentary glimpse of his haggard appearance as they passed each other in the dining hall, he had been put through the ringer.

Even though the sun had set, there were still people working the fields. There was no time to dawdle. The harvest was coming early this year, the normal schedule for reaping disregarded in favor of clearing the land for a battlefield. They would keep and preserve what was edible, and burn the rest. It was a waste of all the work they had put into tending the crops all year, but Hermione knew that the fruits of this harvest would not be necessary come the winter anyway. One way or another, the Order would have left Hogwarts by the time the snow fell.

Hermione walked between the wheat fields on her way to the village, her boots sinking deep into the newly turned earth. The village was made up of rows of attached houses centered around a small green. There were six houses in each row, each house made of two levels with a small garden. Hermione traipsed through the green, which was littered with toys and a few children playing happily under floating magical lights and the watchful eye of an adult. Hermione waved at the woman as she passed, who nodded her head in recognition before breaking up a fight between two small boys. They would be gone soon as well. Noncombatants were to be shipped off to Sweden, into the arms of a small society of Order sympathizers headed by Bill and Fleur Weasley.

A familiar row of houses appeared around the corner. The last few homes in the row were occupied, the third house to the end by Augusta Longbottom and her mentally incapacitated children, Frank and Alice, who had been abducted from St. Mungos immediately after the new regime took power. Next to them lived Andromeda Tonks and her grandson, who were kind enough to sometimes share their home with Hermione- and their porch with Luna. Rounding out the end of the row was the home of Harry and Ginny Potter and their daughter, Lily.

Andromeda's house was empty. Hermione walked up the stairs after calling out a few times and receiving no answer. She packed a few things from her small bedroom. Clearing the entire room might be more appropriate, since she would probably never sleep in the space again, but she was still reluctant to take that final step. Thinking about a future after the war was disorienting, and it made wild magic spark off the tips of her fingers, so she simply stuffed a few shirts and a stack of books into her bag. Taking one last look at a place where she had found shelter and a home for years, she shut the door and headed to the next house over.

When Hermione stepped onto the front path of the Potters' house, she was attacked by a flying toddler in a yellow dress, her blonde hair streaming out behind her.

"Aunt Mynee!" The wiggling bundle screeched. "You're back!"

Hermione clutched her god-daughter tightly, breathing in the scent of dirt and peanut butter and clean linen that was usual for a four-year-old, and also that indefinable scent that was entirely Lily Potter. The girl's huge, blue eyes were crinkled with joy.

"Hello, my love. I missed you!"

The front door slammed open and Teddy walked out. He waited for his hug patiently, very solemn at the ripe old age of seven.

"Hello Aunt 'Mione," he said. He was nearly as tall as Hermione now, the top of his head reaching her nose. She was certain he would be as tall as Remus Lupin had been. His metamorphomagus ability inherited from his mother meant that he could change his appearance at will, but he chose to look like his deceased father, only with bright green hair. Seeing a young Remus still sent a pang of grief straight to her heart, even after all these years. Hermione shifted Lily to one hip, and slung an arm around Teddy's shoulder, walking them both inside while she listened to them describe their time while she was away.

Inside the house, Andromeda Tonks was rinsing dishes in the sink, while supervising a lump of dough that was magically kneading itself. The older woman had become the matriarch of their pieced-together family after Molly Weasley passed away. Teddy was her grandson, of course, but she also took on Lily and a few other children when their parents were away on missions. She made sure everyone was fed well at least once a week by instituting Sunday Dinner, which was held every week without fail and open to anyone who wanted to come. The price of admission was a plate of food to share, either cooked or begged off the castle elves.

Ginny was seated at the table, slicing a carrot into a large bowl. Teddy had scampered away into the living room, no doubt afraid of being tasked with something if he stayed. Hermione sat Lily at the table in front of an unfinished plate of peanut butter and toast.

"Evening, Dromeda," Hermione kissed her cheek.

"Hello dear," she responded, not stopping what she was doing. "Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich."

"No, thank you, but these biscuits look absolutely lovely," Hermione answered, grabbing a handful out of a ceramic jar and giving Ginny a peck on the head as she passed. "Hello," she greeted her friend.

Ginny smiled at her wanly, dark circles under her eyes. There was only one reason why Andromeda wasn't in her own home cooking dinner for her grandson, and it involved Harry Potter and his degenerative curse. Ginny moved over a bit, making room for Hermione to sit

next to her goddaughter.

Andromeda hummed. "You haven't been eating enough."

"How could you possibly know that?" Hermione argued.

"Well you've been up at the castle, and likely working yourself to death." Andromeda pinned her with a disapproving glare. "Not sleeping either, I'll wager."

Hermione looked away guiltily. It had been nearly two days since she had watched Malfoy turn himself into a dragon, and she had spent most her daylight hours tending to her Order duties, which of course meant she had absolutely no time to accomplish her other, more secret goals. She had been up for hours the night before, picking apart the notebook and making color coded lists. It's not like she would've slept anyway, and having a plan helped curb some of the anxiety that was eating away at her brain.

"Don't worry," Ginny chuckled as she nudged Hermione with her shoulder. "Mama 'Dromeda will feed your poor, starving soul."

The older woman sent Ginny a stern look as she placed a sandwich in front of Hermione. Sighing at the sight of a meal she had no desire to consume, Hermione obediently picked up the food and took a bite.

"You'll be coming to dinner Sunday?" Andromeda asked from the sink.

"Sunday Dinner!" Lily chirped.

"Not this week, 'Dromeda. I've got a ton of supply paperwork due, and Kingsley has me running harvest time-tables, as well as plans for the . . ." Hermione trailed off under the weight of a grey-eyed stare. She winced. "Yes, I'll be coming to dinner." There went another three hours she could have spent trying to save the Order from certain defeat.

Andromeda nodded in satisfaction and turned back to her dishes. "Bring those Slytherin friends of yours."

Ginny's head whipped around and Hermione choked on her cookie. "Do you think that's wise?"

"No one would dare cause trouble under my roof," the older woman scoffed. Sensing Hermione's hesitation, she continued in a quiet voice, "Besides, I want to see my sister."

"I'm so sorry, 'Dromeda, of course I'll bring them. I would have brought Narcissa before now if I had thought you wanted to see her." And if it had occurred to her that her surrogate mother and the woman she had hated for so many years were related. They were so opposite it was hard to remember that they had grown up together.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear. I am quite grateful to no longer be associated with my former family." There were a few minutes of silence in which Ginny cleaned Lily's face with a wet rag.

"Tell me," Andromeda demanded after Lily had been sent to the sitting room to play. "Is it true that my sister has been working for the Order? That she no longer follows the beliefs of that insane man she married?"

"I don't know about her beliefs," Hermione said slowly, wondering if that were true. She thought back to the day Narcissa had stood over her, healed her wounds and then berated her for losing hope, for taking the easy way out. The woman had been covered in Hermione's blood at the time, and hadn't seemed disgusted by it at all. Perhaps she knew more about the former Death Eater than she would like to admit. "But I know she and Draco have been fighting against Bellatrix since she took power."

Ginny plucked a piece of tomato off Hermione's plate. "Harry says that Malfoy is a completely different person than he was in school," she said around the food in her mouth. Hermione scoffed. "Besides still being an arsehole," Ginny amended.

Andromeda closed her eyes for a moment in relief, before shaking her head as if to clear it of unpleasant thoughts. "Well," she said, pasting a bright smile on her face and turning her attention to her magically kneaded dough. "It will be nice to meet my nephew and his friends."

"If you say so," Hermione muttered. It would be much the same as their few meals in the dining hall. She could picture it now: six Purebloods sulking elegantly in the corner as they attempted to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of an entire room full of people who were pretending they didn't exist. "Where's Harry?"

"Upstairs," Ginny grew solemn. "He's been having a bit of trouble."

Hermione hummed. "Tremors?"

The redhead nodded. "It's getting hard for him to walk, even with the muscle relaxer. And his heart is working harder than it should."

Hermione let the fear wash over her and away. She needed to be in control of her emotions before facing her best friend, who was dying right before her eyes. There was nothing she could do, and she had tried everything. The curse that had hit Harry was unheard of, and had never affected anyone else. Hermione theorized that it had been a lethal magic that had only incapacitated the Chosen One because of a good shield charm, or because it didn't hit him dead on. Nobody could be sure, and nobody had any answers. Harry had been given a year to live when he awoke from the resulting week-long coma, but Hermione had kept him alive for three.

He was upstairs, tucked into bed with a book, a dark shadow along his jaw.

"My leg's giving me a bit of trouble," he explained carelessly as Hermione gave him a kiss on the cheek. She could see the way the limb was twitching under the blanket. She swallowed down the questions she longed to ask. Had he taken his daily potion? A calming draught to help with the muscle spasms?

"My beautiful wife has ordered me to bed." Harry glared at said woman, who glared right back.

"You could barely walk, Harry." Ginny intervened. "The last thing you need is to fall flat on your face in the middle of the dining hall. Again."

"I could walk if I needed to," he grumbled.

"Of course, dear." Gin winked at Hermione as she left the room, calling over her shoulder. "Don't keep him too long. If he wants to attend the next Council meeting, then he needs to rest."

"I'm going to tell you something," Hermione said, lacing her fingers with Harry's. His eyes widened at the intimate contact. "About Malfoy and why he came to Hogwarts. You have to keep it secret."

"Why a secret?"

"Because Kingsley has expressly forbidden me from attempting it."

"And you're doing it anyway?" One half of Harry's face looked shocked. "Blimey Hermione. Must be important."

"War ending. And I need your help." She paused, considering. "And your cloak."

* * *

Draco couldn't get the scent of her out of his nose. It wasn't overwhelming or even particularly obvious, but it was ever-present. It was layered under every other scent he encountered. The experience should have been confusing, but Draco found himself quite capable of smelling both coffee and Granger- or soap and Granger, or moldy castle walls and Granger- all at the same time. Randomly throughout his day, he would catch a burst of citrus and warm skin and become conscious of it. He would stop whatever menial task he was doing and swing around to seek out its source, but find no trace of a swotty, curly-haired woman.

How was it possible to be separated from someone, yet be completely aware of them at all times? This strange side-effect of his transfiguration had not been predicted by either Draco or Blaise. What belonged to the Dragon should have disappeared when he did, and yet, Draco was fighting the extrasensory inputs constantly. He hadn't been near her in two days, only seeing her in passing as she readied the castle for battle, and only exchanging a few words. He was curt with her, and sometimes outright nasty. It wasn't strictly fair to blame her for his current predicament, but he felt marginally better when he saw her furrow her brow and frown at him.

Like she was frowning at him now. They were both on brooms hovering over the Scottish Dragon Research Institute, and watching the wand light of five Legionnaires approach from the east.

"I told you not to be late," she admonished. "We've missed the guard change."

Draco had almost sprinted across Hogwarts grounds to get to the village on time, only to find her waiting with Portkey in hand, foot tapping impatiently. Fucking Dawlish and his fucking inquisition had taken all fucking day. Draco was tired, irritable, and didn't want to listen to Granger snipe at him, no matter what she smelled like.

"And _I_ told _you_ we should have gone to Romania. No Legionnaires."

"I don't have a Portkey to the Romanian Dragon Reserve, you prat!"

"Poor planning on your part." They needed dragon's blood, and they needed it fairly fresh. Unfortunately, Draco couldn't contribute his own blood while in dragon form, according to Persia. The magic that affected the change also affected its usefulness in a potion. The plan was to break into the SDRI's research lab and steal a phial. They only needed a few drops of the scalding fluid for the Fangjuice Potion. It had been Potter's idea to go to the SDRI rather than the Potion Supply shop on Diagon Alley. The hope was that there would be a smaller presence of Legionnaires at a research facility than at the highly populated center of Wizarding commerce. The git had been right of course. Five Legionnaires was nothing they couldn't handle, especially if there were only these few.

"I'll draw them off," Granger decided. "Find the buildings that hold the laboratories and get the blood. We'll meet back at the main fountain where we 'Keyed in."

Draco hesitated. There were five attackers, but he had seen her with a wand, and if she thought she could handle them by herself then he was inclined to believe her. But still, he was reluctant to just fly away and leave her alone. He buried his uncertainty and nodded to her.

"Take the cloak!" She balled up the large garment and tossed it to him.

"Kill them and then stay out of sight!" he shouted at her as he sailed away, invisible. The Dragon sulking in the back of his mind snarled at him to stay with her, to protect her. He threw one last look at her over his shoulder, his human mind mostly satisfied that she was fully capable of keeping herself alive, and continued on his way. If he kept looking back, it was just his way of making sure she followed his instructions.

* * *

Malfoy had just disappeared from view under the cloak when the first two Legionnaires flew within range and started throwing hexes at her. Hermione's broom was hit with a curse and sputtered, careening to the side. It only took two well aimed curses to kill her pursuers, allowing her to focus on the real problem. Where the hell was she going to land? There was nothing but dragon enclosures beneath her, the large creatures stirring at the sound of the humans above. The last three enemies on brooms appeared behind her, gaining fast. Her broom shuddered and started losing altitude. Merlin, she hated flying. She couldn't fight _and_ keep her control of the blasted thing. A curse exploded against her shield ward. They were just behind her.

"Halt!" she heard. "You're trespassing on Ministry owned land!"

Another pursuer went down with a blasting hex. Hermione considered turning to face the last two in order to initiate a full blown offense, but the last thing she needed was to be identified. The approaching enclosure held a smallish dragon, fully awake and spitting fire at the humans interrupting her rest. She was trying to take flight, but the skin of her wings had been excised by the barbaric researchers to keep her on the ground. Making a decision, Hermione swooped towards the angry creature.

Once she was inside the tall enclosure walls, the dragon lunged forward. Hermione canted to the left and felt a sweltering breath against her legs. The Legionnaire following closely behind her was snatched out of the air. His scream was cut short when he met the wall. The broom under her stuttered to a halt. Hermione tucked up and rolled to the ground, her breath leaving her on impact. Rolling to her back, she sighted the last Legionnaire, who was swooping into the cage more carefully than his partner, and halted his broom in midair. The man flipped over the end of the wooden handle and landed at the feet of the dragon, who promptly ripped his stomach out.

Hermione noticed the small creature hiding behind its mother just before a large, grey claw slammed into her, knocking her back. There was a loud crack as her head hit the concrete wall and pain rocketed through her ribcage. Multi-colored stars danced behind her eyelids. Her gut told her to move out of the way, and she rolled to the side just as a large, spiked tail slammed into the dirt where she had been laying. It missed her body, but swept her dropped wand out of her reach. She hadn't remembered to replace her spare since she had given it to Malfoy, and now she was unarmed but for her knife. Dirt and rocks scraped against her palms as she scrambled to stand. The dragon reared back to strike. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, regretting that her death would bring the Order no closer to victory. She only hoped that Malfoy had managed to get what they needed.

As soon as the thought left her head, there was a swooping noise, followed by wind and sound and a percussive thud as something very large landed in front of her. A whip made of slinky scales and hardened muscles wrapped around her gently and Hermione opened her eyes to see a spiked back and wall of pearly wings instead of an angry female dragon.

"Malfoy?" she gasped.

He let loose a roar that rang through her head and left her eyes spinning. The other dragon reared back at the appearance of a new, and much larger male creature, but recovered quickly and snapped at him. The bite missed its mark, and the dragon's teeth cracked together with a sharp report. Hermione heard a rumble deep in Malfoy's chest, a sound so physical that she could follow its progress up his neck and out of his mouth in the form of bright blue flames. The female dragon stumbled back from the heat, spreading her wings to protect the small creature in the corner.

"She has a baby!" Hermione screamed at Malfoy, hoping he could hear and understand. His head swung around to her, and she would swear he sighed. The tail that was keeping her behind him squeezed shut around her middle and slid her to the shelter of the access door. As soon as his restraining hold on her ceased, Hermione lunged forward and snatched up her wand, retreating to the door with the weapon held ready. There wasn't much she could do against the curse-resistant dragon scales of the female, but she would be ready if Malfoy needed help.

What was he doing, anyway? They could have flown away long ago, but still he engaged the possessive female. They faced each other, tails lashing about angrily. The small grey dragon was fierce and enraged, protecting her hatchling with everything she had. They sent balls of fire through the air and snatched for each other with their teeth. Malfoy would lunge forward, then retreat quickly when she moved to retaliate. His jaws closed around the flesh of her flank and she let out a bark of pain. Suddenly, he backed away. He turned and closed his large claw around Hermione's middle. Then they were airborne, Hermione's stomach overturning with the sudden movement. She closed her eyes and grabbed at him tightly, wrapping her legs around his scaly foot.

Eventually, her stomach settled and she opened her eyes to find that they had landed near a small stream, the lights of the research facility a distant glow on the horizon. Hermione stood and stumbled back, reeling. Malfoy's large dragon claw reached toward her and ripped the bag from her shoulder. "Hey!" she shrieked.

Ignoring her, Malfoy fumbled inside the bag, spilling its contents onto the grass until a jar rolled out. It was the one she had prepared with heat resistant and shatter-proofing spells so it could hold the dragon's blood. He nosed it over to her and grunted. A black talon lightly tapped the ground in front of him. She set it down where he had indicated and stepped back. He rolled his eyes and flicked it back to her.

"What do you want?" Hermione demanded. Grey eyes stared at her and nosed at the jar. That was when Hermione saw the trail of blood leak down his chin and sizzle into the grass. With a gasp, Hermione picked up the enchanted glass again and unscrewed the lid. "Like this?"

He nodded and tapped the ground again. When it was in front of him and Hermione had stepped away, he put his muzzle to the jar and proceeded to spit a mouthful of blood into the glass vessel. The considerable amount that didn't make it into the jar hissed and steamed as it melted into the ground. The pearl colored dragon shrank into the form of a tall, blonde human who stumbled to the stream and dunked his head in the water.

"Urghh," human Malfoy gurgled, his throat filled with water.

"Are you okay?" Hermione knelt next to him. When he didn't reply, she took his jaw into her hand and turned his face to hers. His mouth was blistered at the corners. "Merlin!" she exclaimed.

She yanked Mafloy's wand from his coat and put it to his lips and started muttering every healing charm she could think of, starting with spells to fix burns. She hoped that injuries from dragon's blood weren't as resistant to magic as those from dragon's fire. Malfoy closed his eyes in relief as the redness started to fade. As Hermione's heart slowed down, she started to feel the pain in her ribs.

"That was fucking stupid," she told him.

"And jumping into a cage with a dragon was smart?" he shot back, his words a bit slurred. "We needed the blood since I had to abandon my search for the labs to save your sorry arse."

"Stop talking, you'll hurt yourself!" she snapped. "I didn't jump in, I landed. There wasn't much choice. I had Legionnaires chasing me and broom that was dying."

"Using a living, fire breathing animal as shelter from your enemies is fucking stupid!" His mouth must be feeling better. "I saw that thing throw you against the concrete wall."

The sharp aching in her chest was worse now and there was a throbbing at the back of her head. Hermione pulled the Portkey from her back pocket and held it out to her partner with a wince. Reaching was a bad idea. He snatched her hand and made sure they both had a good grip before activating it. The Portkey brought them back to the hilltop upon which they had first entered Hogwarts.

Malfoy stood, yanking her with up with him. The world was spinning.

"Wait. Wait!" she groaned, chuckling. "I think I broke a rib or two."

"And that's funny, is it?" he growled.

"I'm not dead." She was grinning at him. "And I was pretty sure I was going to be dragon food. So, yeah, it's a little funny."

"That makes no sense."

"I may have also hit my head," she admitted.

"And you're bleeding! Fuck's sake," he swore, his fingers gently probing the wound at the back of her head.

"Ugh," Hermione exclaimed. "I don't have time for a head injury!"

She thought she was standing on her own until the moment her forehead made contact with Malfoy's chest. He sighed and put his wand to her neck. A wave of warm magic tickled the back of her head and a bit of the pain subsided. She snuggled her nose into his coat and made a humming noise. He smelled nice. "I've definitely hit my head."

With her cheek pressed against his chest, Hermione couldn't see the way Malfoy's eyes closed and his nostrils flared, but just before she lost consciousness, she did feel the way his hands gripped her upper arms and tugged her closer.

* * *

 _A/N: The Dramione is FINALLY gonna start appearing, I promise._

 _Hope everyone has a great week. Leave me a line if you have a sec!_


	10. To Read a Book

_A/N: Sorry about the wait guys. I had horrible writer's block and then a puking toddler. A serious thank you goes out to everyone who reviewed and all the new followers who hopped aboard the Dragon train. You guys gave me the strength to finish this bitch of a chapter._

 _I want to say thank you to Delancey654 for her fic rec. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! If anybody starts following due to a recomendation, please let me know so I can thank the the author properly. If you aren't reading Delancey654's super dark fic, "The Last, Lost Hope," then do it now. For realz. It's intense and dark and completely original._

 _Also, I would like to take a minute to say that the example of sadism I present in this chapter (and any subsequent chapters) is not representative of a healthy, consensual BDSM relationship built on mutual trust and respect. Luna's proclivities stem from abuse and PTSD, and neither she, nor her former dominant, are in any way representative of the BDSM community. So don't send me hate mail._

* * *

Chapter Ten: To Read a Book

 _April 2001_

 _Legion of Blood Headquarters_

 _Narcissa arrived at the Lestrange Mansion and found her sister in a rage. It wasn't unusual. Bellatrix was pacing up and down her sitting room, her wild black hair standing on end, spewing nonsense into the air. Every so often, she would aim her wand at a statue or piece of furniture and watch it explode. Setting up a rather strong personal ward around herself, Narcissa settled into the velvet chair near the fireplace and waited it out with a book. Eventually, the deranged leader of the new Wizarding world order noticed her sister's presence, and her words became more understandable._

" _How dare that filthy, Mudblood whore touch my husband?" she screeched._

" _Of whom are you speaking, dear?" Narcissa could think of a hundred and one things she would rather be doing than listening to the rantings of a madwoman. She had loved her sister once, but that girl was gone, replaced with a psychotic killer._

" _I thought I'd taught her a lesson the last time she tried to interfere in my dealings." Bellatrix laughed maniacally. "She still has a scar on her arm from my blade."_

 _Not allowing her face to even twitch with interest, Narcissa turned the page in her book. "Do you mean Hermione Granger?"_

" _Do you know he set up a room for her in the north wing of the house? He has her brought there when he wants to fuck her."_

 _When had this happened? Narcissa thought back frantically, trying to determine how long the girl had been a prisoner. Hopefully it hadn't been long, for she was most certainly being tortured. And if Rodolphos had decided to turn her into his newest plaything, she was going to break sooner rather than later. Had the girl revealed anything yet?_

" _Perhaps you should get her out of the Mansion," Narcissa offered politely, her heart pounding. "I would be happy to keep her in the Malfoy dungeons if she is becoming too much of a burden here."_

 _Bella stopped pacing and her face lit with a demonic pleasure. "Don't worry, Cissy. That conniving cunt will be punished."_

* * *

Draco woke from a dream of slick, sliding skin and sheets that smelled like citrus with sweaty skin and a stiff cock. The details faded after only a moment of wakefulness, but the evidence of the dream was digging painfully into the bed. Groaning into his pillow, Draco turned over and stared at the ceiling, considering a morning wank. He hadn't lowered himself to something so desperate in years. There was always a willing woman somewhere. Now he was trapped in this moldering castle, with a large reptile nudging him to fantasize about a plain, bossy know-it-all who, though she admittedly smelled amazing, and was blindingly intelligent and handy with a wand, was completely out of his reach. And he liked it that way. He would hand his balls to Bellatrix in an embroidered bag before he allowed a hulking animal to-quite literally-force his hand. Sighing, he rolled out of his bed and stumbled down the hall into a very cold shower.

Later in the day, he met with his people in the potions lab. They had all had their regularly scheduled work assignment, and Draco had slogged through his well enough considering how little sleep he'd gotten. Piling up mounds of wheat and corn just to burn them was not his idea of a productive work day, but at least he had his wand to help with the manual labor they seemed determined to throw his way.

"These are the people most likely to survive the ritual," Blaise said, laying a piece of parchment on the long table. "Listed most to least likely."

The list was short. Surprisingly, Granger's name came third. "What the fuck?"

"Yes, quite a surprise." Blaise correctly interpreted the varying levels of astonishment going through the room. "I wasn't even going to run her numbers since she is obviously capable, but decided to do it at the last minute."

"Granger is the most powerful witch at Hogwarts," Draco argued.

"She's undoubtedly powerful," Blaise conceded. "But so is Potter and so is Longbottom, and neither of them landed on the list. I calculated their ability to understand, perform, and survive the ritual. Power was not the only factor. When her unstable magical episodes are accounted for, she presents a less viable subject than some others."

"Luna Lovegood?" Narcissa queried, looking up from the list. "Surely we aren't considering her for our project? She's completely unstable."

"We should remove her name," Pansy said. "If Granger knows she's capable, she might insist the crazy witch participate."

"She doesn't seem very aware of her friend's insanity." Blaise agreed.

Theo shuddered. "The last thing we need is to give that woman long, sharp teeth."

"Agreed." Draco swished his wand and the name disappeared. "So we only have Pansy, Granger, Cho Chang, and George Weasley." The last two names were slimy in his mouth. A Ravenclaw and a Weasely. Just how far had they sunk?

"And we still need a cauldron," Persia interjected.

The words were barely out of her mouth when the lab door swung open, causing Draco to clutch his wand. His brain immediately started filtering through reasons why he and five other former Legion of Blood member might be sitting around a clandestine potions room with precious-and obviously stolen-potions ingredients. The messy black hair of Harry Potter appeared around the door, followed shortly by his limping body.

"Bloody hell, Potter," he grumbled.

"Sorry for the fright," Potter grinned. The hand on his cane was trembling uncontrollably. His skin was pale and waxy, and he had a dark growth of beard along his jaw. "Heard 'Mione was under the weather and thought she might be injured and just pretending to be ill. How bad is it?"

"She's perfectly fine, Mr. Potter," Narcissa answered. "She's sleeping at the moment."

"Ah well, that's good." Potter was discernibly relieved.

"She told you?" Draco asked sharply.

"Of course," Potter looked slightly offended. Draco decided it was anger coiling in his gut, not jealousy. Were they telling _everybody_ now? "Did you think she _stole_ the cloak?"

Draco considered the priceless article of clothing folded up beneath his mattress. That's exactly what he had thought, somehow believing that Hermione would have told him that she brought Harry-Fucking-Potter into their very secret experiment.

"Besides," Potter continued, "I had an assignment."

The dark haired man balanced gamely on his good foot as he dug around in his cloak. Polyjuice ingredients started appearing and were tossed onto the table.

"I couldn't find a brass cauldron that wouldn't be missed," he apologized. "But I remembered I had this one from years ago. Hope it will do."

A tiny cauldron was tossed to Draco, who's Seeker reflexes snatched it out of the air. It was shrunk down for easy transport, but Draco could see by the color and the weight of it that it was solid gold. Draco placed it on the table and returned it to its original size. Pansy and Theo gasped. Persia nearly squealed with delight.

"You just had that lying about in the back of your closet?" Theo was incredulous.

Potter shrugged. "Slughorn gave it to me not long after the Battle of Hogwarts. Something to remember him by or some such nonsense. Then I got a bit busy," he colored in shame, "and forgot I had it. Could've sold it ages ago." He sounded wistful.

Persia and Narcissa made twin noises of outrage. Draco felt a similar sense of discomfort at the idea of selling something so rare, but he supposed if he had the weight of a hundred hungry wizards on his back, he would sell whatever he could.

"Harry Potter saves the day again," Theo mocked the Boy Wonder, but did it with a smile.

Potter grunted and tottered over to one of the chairs by the fire. "Harry Potter needs a nap," he groused. "It's a long fucking walk from the village."

* * *

Potter emerged from Granger's room after about half an hour. He didn't look surprised to see Draco leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

"She was already awake." He said, holding up a hand to forestall any recriminations. "And I did my best to get her to stop doing. . . whatever the hell she's doing now, but she never listens to me."

"I'm not her keeper." The look of amused doubt that flashed across half of Potter's face made Draco want to kick the cane out from under him.

"Well, I'm back to the village." Potter limped away at a painfully slow pace. "Let me know if you need anything, yeah?"

 _Not her fucking keeper_ , he repeated to himself as he pushed her door open, the wards stinging against his skin. He found her in pajamas and wool socks, on the floor at the foot of her bed, papers and books sprawled all around her. The crazy halo of hair around her head made him think she hadn't slept as peacefully as she should have. Her skin was pale, and deep bruises of sleep deprivation ringed her eyes. She was muttering to herself under her breath as she sifted through piles of parchment and made notes with a Muggle pen.

"Fucking hell," he growled. "Don't you ever sleep?"

Granger frowned up at him after his nasty exclamation. "I slept six hours this morning."

"You mean after I carried you to your room with a head wound and had my mother pour a sleeping potion down your throat so you would sit still long enough to heal?"

Her face colored. "Thank you for keeping me out of the hospital wing."

"Well seeing as I'm not stupid or suicidal, it seemed wise to keep the questions about our whereabouts to a minimum."

He cocked his head to get a better look at her notes and found pages of lists. Picking one up, he noticed they were neat, well organized, and of course, color coded.

"You have a real problem, Granger."

She frowned at him and slapped the parchment back down to the floor. "Somebody has to be organized or this whole place would fall apart."

"And that someone is you?"

She shrugged. "Who else?"

He saw the weight pressing down on her like a physical burden. It made him irrationally angry. The hand holding the pen was trembling slightly, and wondered when she had eaten last. There was a cold plate of roast beef and potatoes with roasted vegetables near her knee. An entire loaf of bread accompanied the meal, as well as a pot of tea and a slice of cake. The elves were obviously trying to tempt her into eating.

"Not all of it is Order work," she continued. "I've been researching dragon biology in order to prepare myself for the transformation."

"Are you that worried about it?" he wondered. "Or is this just your normal, obsessive-compulsive need to control everything?"

"That's easy for you to say," she snapped. "You had months to prepare for this. I have a week or two at most."

A thought occurred to him. There was a stack of parchment next to her on the floor. He carefully picked it up and set it aside, then settled next to her, the plate between them. He warmed the food up with a wave of his hand, the magic tingling the tips of his fingers, then duplicated the single fork into two.

"I will answer a question about the transformation for every bite you take," he told her.

Those brown eyes narrowed at him, the set of her mouth turned mulish. He knew she wanted to reject his offer, to toss him out on his arse with a warning to never interfere in her life again, but she was also desperate for information that would ease her anxiety. He was a selfish bastard for holding the knowledge ransom, but he would count every ounce of advice like a miser if it meant she would eat and rest.

"Fine." She snatched the fork from his fingers and pulled the plate closer. "So what does it feel like to be a dragon?"

He pointed imperiously at the plate with his fork. She sighed and scooped up some potato. When she had swallowed, he nodded approvingly and considered her question, taking a mouthful of potatoes for himself.

"Powerful," he answered. "Base, like nothing but the most animalistic aspects of life are important. It feels like freedom."

"Freedom," she echoed softly. "I can't remember what that feels like."

"It would be so easy to just take to the sky and leave everything behind." Draco realized that he was sounding wistful and swiftly brought himself around. "Definitely more exciting than a broom."

"It hurts doesn't it?" She didn't sound worried, just curious.

"A bit." He shrugged. "Eat." When she had grudgingly taken a bite of roast beef, he continued, "It's like moving something really heavy with sore muscles. The first transformation was more painful than any of the others. The physical pain was compounded by the mental stress of controlling the magic." He shook his head as he remembered just how difficult it had been. "The force of it is overwhelming. It feels like your brain is going to melt or shatter or explode. There was a moment when I was sure it was going to tear me apart. Then it was over and I had wings."

Draco thought he might have gone too far. The point was to ease her fears, not magnify them, but instead of looking fearful, Granger looked excited. Bloody Gryffindor.

"What's it like to fly?"

Draco lifted an eyebrow and she obligingly stuffed a bit of bread in her mouth. He cut a piece of cake with the side of his fork.

"Not sure. The first time I flew was last night and I was a bit distracted." He glared at her. "I can tell you that transforming in mid air is not something I would recommend."

The truth was that he couldn't really remember. He remembered flying away from her on his broom, he remembered seeing her dive into the dragon enclosure, Legionnaires hot on her tail, and he remembered the anger that overtook him at her recklessness. He had a clear picture of her slamming against a concrete wall and landing in a crumpled heap. And that's when things got a bit fuzzy. What remained of that night was colored with a haze of rage and possessiveness.

It had been the Dragon's idea to take a bite out of the female when he realized Hermione wanted it's blood. The beast didn't understand the details of her desire for the blood, but they didn't really matter to him. Hermione wanted something and he was going to give it to her. The damn reptile had gotten Draco's mouth burned.

"You have wings, but you've never flown before last night?" She took a bite without him having to remind her, and he struggled to keep the smug look off his face.

Her tone had been incredulous, as if she couldn't believe he hadn't taken advantage of his new ability. "You hate flying," he reminded her.

"I hate broomsticks," she corrected him. "They're unreliable and hard to control." Draco wanted to argue such ridiculous notions, but he kept his mouth shut. "But flying under one's own power? That has to be amazing."

The plate was nearly empty. She had eaten at least a third of it, Draco decided, though he had eaten all of the cake. He leaned back and landed on something hard with sharp corners. It was a book. A Muggle book. About meditation.

"What the fuck is this?" He held it out like it would bite him.

She turned a delicious shade of pink that recalled an image of Dream Granger gasping and moaning, before she snatched the book from him. Draco cleared his throat and shifted uneasily, banishing the memory. "I'm worried about the meditation phase of the transformation," she admitted. "I have a hard time clearing my mind."

"You don't say," he sniped. "It's really not that difficult for those of us with functioning brains and a reasonable understanding of magic."

Granger frowned at him for a moment before her face cleared and she turned her nose up. "Yes, well we can't all be as naturally talented as you are," her mocking tone was accompanied by a smile. Draco felt one corner of his mouth lift.

She opened the book. "In the meantime, I will read as much as my under-functioning brain can reasonably grasp."

"Ah ah ah," he admonished her, swiping the book from her hands. The woman was like a dog with a bone. "You've been told rest, for fuck's sake."

"So you're confiscating my books?" Granger had a dangerous glint in her eyes.

"Hardly," Draco sneered, though he was somewhat gratified that she considered him capable of absconding with anything of hers. He doubted he would even make it to the door before she had him hexed into unconsciousness. "Settle down, Granger."

Draco relaxed back against the footboard and opened the book to the marked page. He cleared his throat, "Chapter Five - "

"What are you doing?" She sounded panicked, and Draco huffed out a laugh.

"If reading this shite will give you the reassurance you need to stop wasting your time obsessing about it, then read it we shall." He pinned her with his patented Malfoy glare and dared her to argue. After a moment of silence, she sighed deeply and settled next to him, close, but not touching.

"Chapter Five: Releasing Distractions." Draco gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. What kind of drivel was this? "When you are searching for your meditative state, it is normal for small, seemingly inconsequential things to become large distractions. . ."

In spite of his reservations, Draco was drawn into the ridiculous Muggle book. The next chapter was about visualization, and the things the Muggle author were describing sounded a lot like magic. Of course, Draco had heard of Tibetan Monks, Catholic Priests, and various Muggle prophets performing feats of magic without actually having any magical ability. Was it possible that certain Muggles could tap into the magical wellspring? Were they Squibs, he wondered. who were shortchanged on their test for magical abilities?

He realized she was asleep when her temple landed against his shoulder and short curls tickled the skin under his ear. He stopped reading mid sentence and she murmured a protest, but didn't wake. Draco's first instinct was to stand up and get away from her, away from the fluttering feeling in his ribcage that felt suspiciously like fear. Not fear, no-it was like terror and arousal and contentment all wrapped up in one disgustingly bright ball.

Instead of fleeing, and to his ultimate dismay, he lifted his arm and let her sway into his lap, her shoulder pressed against his thighs and her head cradled in the crook of his arm. It was obviously not a sustainable position, he thought acidly, his legs would go to sleep and his arm would get tired before long. The foot board against his back was hard. The stone floor was cold. He reached up and behind his head to gently pull the quilt down and was flooded with her scent as it slid over him. He pulled one end around his shoulders and let the rest of it fall over Granger.

Draco decided he deserved a fucking medal for this. Clearly, none of these fucking Order of the Phoenix soldiers, her _friends_ , knew how to make sure she was taking care of herself. The blasted woman was resistant to assistance, judging by how he had been forced to manipulate her into eating, but he wondered how often anyone even bothered to try. Cowards. He huffed in indignation and tried to find a comfortable place for his free hand that didn't come into direct contact with the woman draped across his lap.

There was something incredibly fascinating about the way a particular curl at the base of her head had wrapped itself under and around her ear lobe. It flipped away from her ear easily when Draco's finger hooked it, coiling around his skin like silk thread. He was breathing too rapidly, the heat from Granger soaking into his clothes and flooding into every corner of body. He wanted to bury his nose into the curls along her neck, and taste the skin there. It probably tasted like oranges. . and sunlight. . . and old books. . . and _what the fuck was he talking about_?

Grumbling silently and absolutely disgusted with himself, and staunchly ignoring the sensation of a contented Dragon curled up in the back of his mind, Draco leaned his head against the stiff wood and closed his eyes.

* * *

"What is the point of a safe word if you don't stop?" George groaned as he gingerly pulled his shirt back on. There were raw wounds on his back, and rope burns on his wrists. He had _evanescoed_ the blood from the floor while Luna cleaned the wounds on his back and torso.

"If you didn't want to be in pain, you wouldn't come to me," she told him derisively. She stood up and collected her knives, transfiguring the whip on the floor back into a quilt. There was an itching need to get away from him now that she was through playing.

George summoned the flask he kept in his coat pocket and took a long draw. It was probably Firewhiskey, laced with some kind of narcotic. The remaining Weasley twin spent most of his time steeped in some kind of drug, and the rest of his time looking for ways to punish himself for surviving when so many of his loved ones were dead. He volunteered for the most deadly missions, he rejected offers to heal his wound after a battle, and once in a great while, he crawled to Luna's door to be literally tied to the whipping post. Luna was quite good at it, for she had been trained by the best, and what little sexual drive she still experienced could no longer be satisfied unless she was also causing pain.

She almost always went too far, bent him to breaking, and he always regretted coming to her when it was over. But he always came back. When the remorse of living got to be more than the drugs could handle, he always found her in her tree, took her back to his room, and let her defile his body until his guilt was satisfied. If she were a better person, she would turn him away, but as it was, Luna could find little reason to spare him, even when he cried out for mercy. On the other hand, the arrangement worked for both of them, and she was reluctant to completely scare him away. When he finally summoned the courage to kill himself, whether deliberately or on the battlefield, she would need to find other ways to satisfy her urge to part the flesh of another human.

She didn't really want George Weasley; she wanted her Master. Luna wanted her so badly she could taste it: a metallic tang on the back of her tongue, a bitter flavor that seasoned everything she consumed. But the rational side of her- the part that was still _Luna_ and not the broken shell of a real witch- knew that her Master was evil. The woman had broken Luna into obedience against her will, had stripped away from Luna all her empathy, all of her humanity. People thought the twins worked together, that Amycus was the brains and Alecto the means, but it was the other way around. Her brother was merely a tool, a rage filled, none-too-smart body which she used to fulfill her desires. Alecto had desired Luna, and in the end, with her soul screaming in denial, Luna had desired Alecto.

"I won't bring out the knives next time," she offered to George, hoping to placate him.

George shook his head vehemently, his eyes glassy from relief and shame. "There won't be a next time."

Luna smiled at him as she caressed his cheek like a child. "We'll see."

If anyone understood the call for punishment, it was Luna. She drank in the panic in his eyes for just a moment longer before leaving.

* * *

 _A/N: In the spirit of recommending fics: I have a few._

 _"A Subtle Love" by MaryRoyale- delicious Blaise x Hermione (Blermione? Lol.)_

 _"The Ribboned-Witch" by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse- Snamione that is reminiscent of the Bespoke Witch by glittergrrl05 (read that one also)_

 _"Disconnected" by SableUnstable- George x Hermione, a repost HOW DID I MISS THIS THE FIRST TIME AROUND? (also read "Stages" if you fancy Remione and a deep, embarrassing sob fest.)_

 _Love you guys! Happy Holidays!_


	11. To Share a Meal

_A/N: A big thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter. I love hearing from you guys!_

 _The scene between Draco and Teddy can be directly attributed to Monsterbleeds. Hope it's what you were looking for, lovely!_

* * *

Chapter Eleven: To Share a Meal

 _April, 2001_

 _Parkinson Place, Tuscany_

 _Pansy threw the missive on the fire the moment she finished reading it. What the hell was Draco thinking, sending something so obviously treasonous?_

Keep out of HQ for a few days.

D

 _As if Pansy would step foot in that place without being ordered. What was happening at the Lestrange Mansion? And why was Draco involved? It had something to do with the Granger girl, Pansy was sure of it. The foolish chit had gotten herself captured some months ago. Pansy felt bad for her, certainly, but was desperately afraid that Draco would get himself killed trying to help her. It would have been better if the Snatchers had finished her off early._

" _Amycus Carrow to see my Lady." A house elf intoned through her bedroom door._

 _The last of the parchment curled into dust and Pansy banished the ashes wandlessly. She took a moment to gather herself, pasting a cool, Pureblood smile on her face and ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach._

* * *

Hermione woke to the feeling of being anchored, safe and drowsy. It was warm. Too warm, in fact. The lower levels of the castle were always chilly. Even in summer, Hermione often woke with the desire to curl up into a ball under her quilt to conserve heat. At the moment, she was sweating under her blanket, a wall of rolling heat against her side. There was also a heavy band across her waist.

Her brain woke up all at once and she realized she was being held. She lay on her back, blinking up at her ceiling in confusion. There was a body next to her. Turning her head slowly, Hermione'a eyes latched onto the sight of bright platinum hair. She looked down and saw a pale arm on top of the quilt, the edge of a black tattoo peeking out at her. He was lying on his stomach, facing away towards the lake window, one arm under his head, the other thrown over her.

Hermione soaked up the moment of unreality, keeping herself perfectly still. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had voluntarily come into such close contact with her. It had been sometime before her captivity, to be sure. At first, the distance had been a relief. For months she hadn't wanted anyone to even stand too near. Then it had become a habit. People would automatically step away with an apology when they got too close. In a group, hugs and handshakes would go all around, and a nod was saved for Hermione.

It had become lonely very quickly, but she hadn't know how to ask for what she wanted. Perhaps they didn't touch her because they were disgusted. Perhaps they knew she was broken deep down inside. Did they see the way she flinched? Could they sense her unease? It used to be so easy to embrace Harry, to link arms with Ron, to snuggle against Ginny. As much as she wanted the old closeness, she was also terrified that it might reveal the unfixable parts of herself she knew lurked beneath the surface.

"Don't hyperventilate, Granger." The command was muffled.

Hermione instantly controlled her breathing. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said quietly.

He picked up his head and squinted at her. Sniffing, he sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. The place where his arm had rested was suddenly cold. The muscles under his shirt flexed as he stretched the morning stiffness out of his limbs. He was still dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the night before. They both were. She wondered briefly how he had gotten her on the bed without waking her. Weightless charm, probably.

A heavy fog of awkwardness descended upon her. She had no idea what to say. Malfoy was calmly scratching at his shoulder as if waking up in her bed was normal. He had fallen asleep with her, and then moved her to her bed, and then climbed in next to her and gone back to sleep, cuddled up like - like they were -

"You snore," he complained. "Like a fucking bear."

When he turned back to glare at her, she saw that his hair was standing up on one side and he had a crease through one cheek.

Hermione blinked at him, the tension in her chest loosening. "I do not."

The skin around his eyes was puffy. His shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned at the bottom. There was a small bit of dried drool along the side of his mouth. When he yawned loudly, Hermione caught a whiff of ghastly morning breath. Draco Malfoy was ugly, grumpy, and slightly stinky first thing in the morning, just like everyone else. Was he missing a sock?

"I beg to differ," he grunted as he turned away again. Despite his disheveled appearance Hermione had the urge to lean over and press her mouth to the base of his neck. There was a small bit of skin there, peeking out above his shirt and beneath the edge of his silky hair. She bit her lip, imagining just how amazing that bit of flesh might taste.

"What are you grinning about?" he groused. "I've got a crick in my neck."

"You," she chuckled, flustered and resigned to the flags of color she new adorned her cheeks. "You look a fright. It's made me very happy, actually."

He gave her a look of pure loathing as he swiped at his wayward hair. "Bugger off."

"I once saw a bear trained to balance on a large circus ball," she continued. "He would hold an umbrella in one hand and a top hat in the other. Seeing you first thing in the morning is far more amusing."

"Happy to entertain," he grumbled as he crossed the room, collecting his missing sock and shoes. Hermione got the feeling that he wasn't quite as calm about the situation as he appeared.

"Draco." He stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn around. "Thank you. I haven't slept a full night in ages." And without nightmares. Wonder of wonders. "It seems my debt to you just keeps piling up."

His shoulders tensed up slightly. "Let's get through this war before we start tallying debts," he said.

The door shut quietly behind him. Hermione put her hand over the spot on her chest where her heart was tapping erratically. The absence of his presence only highlighted his effect on her: she was breathing faster than usual, her skin was warm, and there was an insistent throb in her lower abdomen and between her legs. She briefly imagined what it would have felt like to truly wake up in his arms, her back tight against his front. She might have mapped the dips and curves of the muscle on his arms as they wrapped around her. She might have turned and pressed her mouth to his. Merlin's beard.

Silently ordering herself to stop fantasizing like a school girl, she collected her bathing things and headed for the shower. A cold shower.

* * *

George burped a small cloud of alcohol scented breath and tried to cover it with a cough. Hermione was talking to him, and the last thing he needed was for her to notice his state of inebriation. The illegal hooch he made in secret in his workshop could strip paint and was currently tearing up the lining of his stomach. He had taken a sip or two with his afternoon tea and he should have eaten as well, but had been in a hurry. It was less than he usually imbibed, considering the dangerous nature of what he was about to attempt. The small amount of booze was just enough to keep the shakes away, but could still wreak havoc with his insides when he wasn't careful about it.

He had still needed to take his usual bit of Calming Draught, which, while normal for George, was still double the recommended dose these days. Without his potion, it was impossible for him to focus, hard sometimes to even leave his room. With the lovely liquid floating through his veins like sweet molasses, he was quick to laugh, but slow to react. Unfortunately, his current level of sobriety was the best he could do. He was hoping to present his new invention without dropping it and killing half of the Order's forces, while also avoiding another lecture from Hermione about the dangers of abusing potions.

The early sounds of Sunday Dinner distantly reached him as he opened the wooden crate on the ground, his lovely Eggs nestled in amongst some hay. They looked exactly like chicken's eggs, white with a smooth outer shell, but they could be spelled to blend into any environment. They were made of charmed, hollowed out ceramic, the insides packed very precisely with various ingredients that, when combined with an specific incantation - or a jostle strong enough - would cause an explosion the likes of which the wizarding world had never seen.

Hermione had gathered the younger Purebloods, along with Neville, Luna, Ron, Ginny and Harry to witness this demonstration. If he had been clear headed, he would have been nervous. As it was, George simply grinned at them and made a witty comment he forgot in the next moment. Nobody laughed, which he attributed to the tension thick in the air. He thought there was some kind of staring contest going on between Ron and a few of the others, but he couldn't be sure. Trying to decipher any kind of body language was just far too taxing.

"I call it an Exploding Eggbomb," George began, holding one aloft so the gathered witches and wizards could see it properly. "I've fashioned it something like a Muggle explosive, but with more magical ingredients. It's activated by a spell, but it's also pretty delicate, so be gentle. It can kill anything within three meters and seriously damage anything within seven."

"Impressive," Zabini commented.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Ron challenged, his arms crossed.

"And you're going to demonstrate that thing right here?" Malfoy looked around. "In the middle of the village green?"

"I've set up an uncrossable perimeter," Hermione told him. "And I'll cast a protective barrier to contain the blast."

"I don't think this is a good idea." The Parkinson woman was looking at George's invention like it was a snake. A snake. Much like Parkinson. George chuckled to himself.

Malfoy and Parkinson were probably right. George tried to consider all the ways in which this was a bad idea, but cocooned in his drug-induced fur coat, those worries simply floated away. He breathed in carelessly and snuggled a bomb into the thick grass, snickering as he imagined it turning into a reptile and slithering away.

"Look! A snake in the grass!" Nobody laughed, but he did receive a few raised eyebrows.

 _Inside joke, Georgie,_ Fred reminded him.

 _Right you are, Fred,_ George silently thanked his twin. He needed another dose of his Draught.

"You alright, mate?" Harry was leaning heavily on his cane.

"Right as rain, my friend. Right as rain." George backed away from the bomb, advising everyone else to do the same. When they had all formed a loose circle a good distance from the Eggbomb, he looked to Hermione.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded her assent, not taking her eyes from the device. George spoke the incantation that would activate his invention. " _Decimari!_ "

Almost simultaneously, Hermione cast a dome of protection over the bomb, and not a moment too soon. A wave of heat escaped just before the ward closed completely, blasting their hair back. There was a flash within the protected circle, the ground jerked underneath their feet, and then a distant boom, muffled by the ward, followed a multi-colored web of energy along the perimeter of the dome as the blast impacted Hermione's magic. The ground started to tremble.

"Uh-oh," George muttered as he backed away.

 _Now you've done it, Georgie._

He had warned them it was powerful, hadn't he? It wasn't his fault they hadn't believed him.

The ward cracked like glass, splintering into shards and dissipating into the air. The blast impacted them not a moment later, knocking into George's chest like a giant hammer. He flew backwards and landed flat on his back, gasping. He had barely recovered when he was hauled upright by the front of his shirt. Theodore Nott was grinning at him like a clown and clapping him on the shoulder. There was a small trail of blood leaking from the man's left ear.

"Big boom," George slurred intelligently.

"Bloody right!" Nott shouted gleefully in his face. The sound was distant as if filtered through cotton.

A moment later, George felt the cool sensation of a general purpose healing charm slither over him. He shook his head like a dog to clear his brain. He really should have had more to drink. A few people had wandered from their homes, drawn outside by the shaking earth.

Hermione was glowering at the Quaffle sized hole in the ground. "It broke through my ward," she complained, personally offended.

"Your ward kept us alive," Zabini offered. "Absorbed most of the blast."

Malfoy and Zabini were standing just behind her, Malfoy scowling at the curls at the back of Hermione's head, which had caught bits of leaves and grass from her fall. Harry was sitting upright on the ground, blinking slowly. Luna was picking up bits of broken ceramic and pocketing them, talking to herself. Neville was dusting off the back of Parkinson's shirt, as the woman decried the state of her trousers.

"That was amazing, George!" Ron punched him excitedly in the shoulder.

"Well done, mate!" Nott and Ron glanced at each other in accord for a moment before Ron grimaced and looked away.

"Not bad, eh, Hermione?" George called to her.

"I want you to make as many of these as you can before we go to war," Hermione clipped out. "You and Arthur are to work on this exclusively, understand?"

George saluted her, snapping his heels together. "Understood, Captain."

 _Don't you just love the smell of burning vegetation, Georgie?_

He needed a drink.

* * *

The tiny tent was much larger on the inside. There were at least a hundred people walking about freely. One half was filled with tables, a large buffet along the other side and a dance floor cleared out of the middle. A wireless was set up against one wall, playing muted music under the low hum of conversation. There was little in the way of decoration, only candles spelled to float above the tables, and a few pots of flowers scattered about. The party-goers were dressed as if going about their normal business, and Pansy felt terribly overdressed in the shirt she had charmed to have a frilly neckline.

There were several people glaring at the six of them as they entered and stood stupidly. Pansy spotted the tall, blonde head of Longbottom near the buffet, but did not see anyone else who might tolerate their presence. Why had they come to this thing anyway? Oh that's right, because Draco had turned into a puddle of goo when Hermione had batted her eyelashes at him and requested their presence. Pansy sighed in disgust.

An older woman appeared out of nowhere. She approached Narcissa, stopping just within reach. Pansy swallowed uneasily. The woman looked like Bellatrix. There was less silver in this woman's hair, and the bright glare of madness was absent from her eyes, but the two women could have been twins. Draco took a breath beside her, and Pansy knew he was thinking the same thing. This must be Andromeda Tonks.

"Hello, Ana." Narcissa said quietly. She appeared completely composed, but Pansy could see the strain around her eyes.

"Welcome, Cissa." There was a long bout of silence. "I'm glad you're here."

The sentence was simple, but the sentiment behind it was vast. Narcissa gave her sister a small smile in return. There were very few overt gestures in the world of Pureblood women, but they were all trained in the ability to convey much with very few words. Pansy felt the magnitude of the sisterly exchange in her bones.

"And welcome, Draco, my nephew." Andromeda stood back and looked the man over. "Not much of the Black in you, lucky boy. We run towards insanity, you know."

Draco blinked at her. "I am aware."

"Yes, I imagine you are."

"Though the Malfoys aren't much better, in my experience," Draco commented.

Andromeda's face cracked with a smile, deepening the creases around her mouth and eyes. Smile lines. Another difference between Bellatrix and her sister.

"Allow me to introduce my friends," Draco continued. "Persia Parkinson, you know." The two women shook hands. "Her daughter, Pansy." Pansy nodded politely. "And this is Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini." The men bowed over her hand.

"I apologize for not receiving you earlier," Andromeda said. "We've been quite busy, as I'm sure you know."

A small group of boys ran past. Without looking, Andromeda reached in amongst them and pulled out a tall boy with bright green hair.

"This is my grandson, Teddy Lupin." She told them, holding the wiggling boy by his shoulders. "Teddy this is your Aunt Narcissa and her son Draco and their friends."

"You're my cousin." The boy piped up.

Draco looked down his nose at the child. "I suppose."

The boy stared at Draco intensely for a moment, and then his hair started changing color, the wavy green strands turning platinum blonde, straight and fine. His green eyes turned crystalline grey, his cheeks hollowed out a bit, his chin turned more defined and pointed. A carbon copy of nine-year-old Draco stood before them.

"Bloody hell," Theo whispered.

Pansy could see the moment Draco's brain started whirring with ideas. "Metamorphmagus," he said. "You can change your features at will?"

Teddy beamed. "Yup."

Draco considered this for a moment. "That's quite useful. Too bad you're not ten years older. We could have used you."

"Draco," Narcissa chastised him.

"Wanna see more?" Teddy offered. Draco's face broke into what could only be described as a mischievous grin. He and Theo exchanged a glance that Pansy hadn't seen since school.

"Teddy, my boy," Draco drawled. "You have our attention."

Teddy's grey eyes brightened back to green as he beamed at his cousin.

Before the boys could wander off and cause problems, Ronald Weasley appeared. "Everyone's arrived," he told Andromeda, completely ignoring the six other adults. At least he wasn't cursing at them.

"Thank you, Ronald." She turned to her family. "If you'll excuse me."

Andromeda was assisted up onto a chair by Weasley, who offered his shoulder to her for balance as she started to speak.

"Welcome everyone!" Andromeda's magically altered voice carried all the way to the back of the tent, making the noise cease. "This is a very special Sunday Dinner, and not just because it will be our last here at Hogwarts."

There were a few noises of disappointment and fear. Anyone not joining the fight would be leaving by the end of the week. Draco thought they were cutting it too close. Bellatrix could show up with her army at any moment, he had argued, and the Order still had children running about. He had been assured by Potter that the Order's spies would alert them to any incumbent movement. Right now the Legion was preparing for attack, but hadn't made any definitive decisions yet. It was just like Bellatrix to change her mind up until the last moment.

"It is also a very special night because we are celebrating the marriage of two of our favorite people. I am happy to introduce the newly bonded Seamus and Dean Finnegan."

There were cheers all around. Seamus blushed and grinned like a fool when Dean planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Great timing," Pansy snarked. "Now one of them can don widow's weeds when the other is killed next week."

"Rein it in, Pans," Blaise admonished her quietly.

Andromeda was continuing, "Many thanks to Mr. Lively who helped us set up the dance floor."

More cheers. She waited until there was quiet again, her face turning serious.

"I would like to take a moment to give my deepest respect and admiration to those of you who are staying to fight." Silence. "You will be fighting not only for yourselves, but for everyone in our world who has suffered over the last decade. It has been a long war. We have all experienced loss.

"It has been my pleasure to open my home to you, and I consider all of you my family." Pansy noticed the way Andromeda looked directly at her sister for a moment. Then the woman shook her head as if to clear it of bad thoughts and pasted a smile on her face. "Please eat and talk and dance. Enjoy yourselves."

A short round of applause, and then everyone was moving. Some to the buffet, some to the dance floor, some to the tables. Draco grasped Pansy's hand and his mother's elbow and led them to a table, Persia and the boys trailing behind. Just before she seated herself, Pansy cast one last look around the tent, and found her eyes drawn to a tall man with blonde hair and a goofy smile. He was chatting with a tiny woman with big breasts and a slutty smile. Pansy abruptly wondered if the woman would be as pretty with weeping boils all over her face.

In Pansy's opinion, lying to oneself was the worst kind of weakness. There was power in a well crafted falsehood, but one could only use it to the fullest effect when one's mind clear and free of confusion. It was with this in mind that she silently admitted to herself just how much she coveted Neville Longbottom. His strong hands, the corded muscles on his forearms, the way his very presence softened the sharp edges of her personality. The last bit was a bit frightening. Pansy wanted all of him.

"Alright, Pans?" Blaise was looking at her knowingly and Pansy realized she was staring at Longbottom.

"Shut up." She sat down and kept her eyes at her own table.

They ate alone. No one but Hermione approached the table, and she had only stopped to apologize for not being able to stay. She had decided to sit with Andromeda and the Potters on this, their last supper together. Pansy felt a bit miffed, if she was being honest. They talked amongst themselves and planned to leave as soon as the food was cleared. Pansy spotted quite a few familiar faces. McGonagal was seated not far away. And over to the left was Madame Hooch and Professor Sprout. The meal was almost over when Pansy felt the cold, wet sensation of a drink being poured down her back. She gasped and leapt to her feet.

It was one of Weasley's goons. The man leered at her and laughed. Theo's fragile temper snapped and he wandlessly put the man in a full body bind before anybody could react. The huge oaf landed on the floor like a felled tree. Conversation ceased as Blaise blocked Theo's access to the immobilized man and Draco brought Pansy a napkin. Angry grumbles started up.

"How dare you act this way in my house?" Andromeda thundered, approaching from her table. Hermione was close on her heels. "And to my invited guests!"

Draco released the man on the floor carelessly, his face a mask of calm, but Pansy could feel the tension in the stiff way he stood, shielding her and Theo.

"Apologies, Mrs. Tonks," he told his Aunt.

The woman waved his regrets. "Don't be ridiculous. It's this miscreant who should be apologizing."

"They're Death Eaters!" the man protested, rubbing the back of his head.

"You will behave yourself, or you will leave." The threat was short and effective. The woman snapped around with all the royal flair of a Queen and stalked away, stopping to point her finger menacingly at Weasley. "Control your dogs."

The man got to his feet and sneered at them. "It's you who doesn't belong."

"Don't be a such a cock, Amos," somebody grumbled. There were murmurs of agreement. It broke the tension and the hum of conversation resumed. Amos stuttered, turned red, and stomped out of the tent.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked Pansy.

Pansy dried her clothes with her wand and sat down again with as much composure as she could manage. "Just fine."

They six of them exchanged looks. They couldn't leave now, not with a gauntlet thrown at their feet. Pansy settled in for a long and boring night. The general disapproval of Amos's behavior had been a surprise, and made the prospect of remaining for the duration less painful. She sighed and sipped her juice. Perhaps she would corner Longbottom and see if she could make him blush. Pansy grinned.

* * *

Hermione Granger separated herself. When given the choice, she always chose a chair instead of a couch. When standing in a group, she always put her back to a wall or stood at an angle to everyone else, her hands on her hips. At a table, she often tucked a foot under her, making her knee stick out to the side. She looked relaxed, but the action made it impossible for someone to scoot too near.

Everyone seemed to know this about her, and never invaded her space. But Draco noticed she was separated by more than just physical proximity. She hid behind her rank, her responsibilities, and her intelligence, and managed to keep most everyone from getting too close. As a method of distancing oneself, Draco had to admit it was effective. Of course, they all had their desperate affectations: Draco had his arrogance, Pansy her disdain, Theo his humor, and Blaise his logic. For Granger, cool intimidation kept her safe from getting too personal, and leaving herself open to pain.

Everyone had finished eating some time ago, and most were either chatting in groups or dancing. Granger sat in the back corner of the party tent, as far from the impromptu dance floor as possible, folding a napkin in front of her. There was a weariness in her movements and posture that spoke to the countless hours she had been putting towards the final battle, both with the Order and with the Purebloods. Despite the recent bout of sleep Draco had conned out of her, she was still overworked and overtired.

Waking up next to her had been a surprise. He had meant to tuck her into bed and retire to his own room, but she had stirred and almost woken when he had tried to extricate his arm from beneath her shoulder. He had settled next to her to wait until she fell asleep again, and had opened his eyes sometime just after dawn to a face full of short, curly hair and his cock jutting into her lower back. Turning away from her body only a moment before she had surfaced from sleep, he hoped she was unaware of just how close they had gotten during the night.

"I've never attended a party with no alcohol." Draco drawled as he set a glass of apple juice in front of her. "Juice isn't quite the same, though everyone else seems very excited about it."

Granger didn't even look up, but nodded in agreement. "Alcohol is pretty much forbidden, but I'm sure there's some around here somewhere." She looked pointedly at George, who was tipping something into his juice from a glass vial. "And fruit is eaten whole here at Hogwarts Headquarters, not squandered for the luxury of the sweet liquid inside."

"Alcohol is forbidden? I seem to remember a bottle of very fine bourbon at the bottom of a very deep drawer in your room." She colored. "And you don't share it with your fellow soldiers? Shameful Granger. Absolutely fucking shameful."

"I shared it with you," she objected, glaring at him.

"Yes you did." The memory suddenly had more weight, now that he knew the scarcity of the drink. He wondered what punishment she would suffer if he revealed her secret. "I don't see you as much of a drinker."

"I've had my moments, but generally speaking, no, I don't drink." The napkin was flipped over, folded, flipped again, folded.

"Moments, eh?" He was intrigued. How much trouble could Hermione Granger possibly have gotten into?

One side of her mouth lifted in a tired smile. "Before Hogwarts, we operated out of safe houses, and sometimes we would be trapped together for weeks in a tiny flat. Every once in awhile, we would sneak away and find a Muggle club, get pissed, dance until our feet hurt, and wander back before dawn." Flip, flop, fold.

"That sounds risky." He was immediately displeased at the thought of her doing something so incredibly stupid. The Legion had spies everywhere, just waiting to snatch up any Order member, much less one third of the Golden Trio.

"Oh it was," she admitted. "But we were kids in a war. We were desperate to feel normal even for a moment."

There was a small smile on her lips. She took a breath and her gaze focused on him. "I looked over Blaise's list of candidates."

"And?"

"I'm quite surprised that Luna's name didn't warrant a space." Granger was watching him closely.

Draco looked at her coolly. "Are you?"

"She's quite talented."

"And insane," he mentioned.

She studied him for a moment, but continued without argument. "I think we can agree that George is not an option."

Draco nodded in approval. The remaining Weasley twin was a drunk. Seeing the genius of the man's inventions only made his current state more pathetic. What a waste.

"If it was just his own life he was risking, I would say we take the chance," she continued. "But he could injure or kill the four guardians of the circle if the magic gets away from him during the ritual."

Draco quite approved of her mercenary logic. "True."

Flip, fold. "Cho is also a problem."

"Fuck!" he swore. "She pickled as well?"

Granger shook her head. "She's lost her right arm and half of her left leg. She gets around well enough and can still fight, but should the missing limbs translate to her dragon form-"

"She won't be able to fly."

"Not much help against Bellatrix." She sounded despondent.

"That's still you and Pansy." Draco attempted to reassure her. Three dragons was more than enough.

"And if we fail? Then it's just you, taking on the Black Dragon on your own."

"You don't think I can manage it?" He was slightly bothered by the fact that she seemed so calm about the possibility of her own death. "I am a dark and menacing machine of death."

"You are a very fierce creature." She laughed quietly. "But Bellatrix is bigger than you. A Hungarian Horntail is the most dangerous breed. She's also been a dragon for seven years."

"Pansy won't fail. She wants it too much." He let her draw her own conclusions from his statement and was rewarded when she sat up straight in her chair.

"I want it too," she declared. "I've been preparing for this since you arrived, and I am more than capable of performing the ritual. I'll have you know that I could create a corporeal Patronus in fifth year."

"Very impressive," he deadpanned. She narrowed her eyes.

"Just you wait." She gave him a devious smile that sent a thrill of - _something_ \- up his spine. "You're pretty scrawny for a dragon. I might just be twice your size with a spiked tail. I will out-fight and out-fly you, mark my words."

"I beg your pardon?" he objected. "I am not _scrawny_! Besides," he continued in a rough voice, unable to stop himself. "When it comes to flying, Granger, it's not the size of the wingspan that matters, it's the thrust."

She blushed a delightful pink and he was aghast at his body's reaction. Then she shocked him further by looking him straight in the eye and replying, "Whatever gets you up, I suppose."

 _Take her_ , the Dragon snarled, sending him the memory of a guest room he had seen briefly on his way through Andromeda's house. Draco clenched his fists under the table and schooled his expression. Getting up indeed. Fuck's sake, he wanted to kiss her.

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see who the better dragon is." He looked away from her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes before he was blinded.

"It's interesting that this process yields physical attributes different from the known breeds of dragons. The features of your dragon form seem to echo your human features." Granger's voice had taken that swotty tone Draco hated. He grunted, still trying to calm the roaring lust clawing at him. "I'm betting Pansy will like a Vipertooth," she opined. "Something venomous."

They both chuckled.

"Care for a dance?" Draco wasn't sure where the offer had come from, but as he watched her brown eyes sparkle with amusement, the words had slipped out.

"Dance?" She repeated the word as if it was a strange concept, then continued, "You want to dance with me? I mean, it's just that people don't normally do things that involve touching me-" She went red and started rambling. "- or rather, involving a close - I mean, intimate- oh! Not intimate, certainly!- not a physical kind of activity." She stopped and shook her head. "Bloody hell."

A moment ago she was tossing him thinly veiled sexual innuendo and now she was stuttering like a schoolgirl. Draco did his best not to burst into laughter, settling for a wide smile. It was an odd sensation. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt inclined to do more than chuckle. "Dancing can be rather . . . close."

She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snort. "Can you Obliviate me and try that again?"

"And deny myself the pleasure of your indignity? Surely not."

Tossing the napkin on the table, she straightened and looked at him ruefully. "I think I could manage a dance if I haven't made you completely uncomfortable."

"I'm a Malfoy," Draco sneered. "I am never _uncomfortable_."

Except he was. Draco was deeply discomfited as he escorted her past the mostly empty tables to the small space cleared for dancers. He felt the weight of every action as he turned her to face him, one hand loosely holding hers, the other lightly at her waist. He kept as much space between them as possible, dropping into the formality ingrained upon him in his youth in order to keep their positions rigid. He did not want to to embrace her. What resulted was a rather traditional waltz, their steps kept small and precise. Draco tried not to notice the stares they were getting, or the way a space opened up around their dancing forms.

What he did notice, was the way the strain on her face melted away after the first few steps, and how she smiled a private smile at her feet, as if she were congratulating herself. That smile was transferred to Draco after a moment. He formed his lips into a smug grin, knowing he was acting like an arse, but unwilling to allow himself to beam at Hermione Granger like an idiot. Her scent was swirling around him as he pulled her to the left and right, never closer than his locked elbows would allow, but still able to catch the familiar aroma of oranges and sandalwood and parchment. Somewhere deep inside, the Dragon coiled around himself and rumbled his approval.

The song was over in a matter of minutes. Draco spent that time quietly talking about the weather, ignoring the amusement on Granger's face. He kept his face a mask of polite interest, never letting his eyes wander from her forehead, or licensing his hands to creep up her back, or allowing his fingers to intertwine with hers. When the music moved from the measured strains of a waltz to a faster beat, he released his hold on her body and mumbled something graceful about needing the toilet. He bolted out of the tent as fast as his human feet could take him, the Dragon howling at him.

* * *

Luna sat beneath a tree a few feet into the Forest, watching the lights from Sunday Dinner and humming lightly with the soft strains of music that reached her ears. It was far too crowded under that tent for her tastes. Besides, the Exploding Eggbomb she had tucked under her shirt needed only a good shove to activate. She knew George had been too high to notice her theft. By the time he realized he was missing one, she would have used it to decimate several Legionnaires. Decimate, decapitate, decompose. She giggled softly.

As usual, the sound of Ron's footsteps alerted Luna to his approach.

"So? What have you discovered about our Pureblood friends?"

Luna had dickered with herself about her agreement with Ron. They both had good intentions. The six Purebloods had no place at Hogwarts, much less in the upcoming battle. She no longer worried that they were spies, or that they were sent into the heart of the Order to wreak sabotage. But how could any Order member trust these people with their lives in the heat of battle? They were a weak link.

However, they had also brought with them the means of winning the war. It was essential that they be allowed to complete the transformations. Malfoy on his own might not be enough to defeat Bellatrix without the loss of other witches and wizards, and Hermione was determined to keep every wand on the battlefield, and out of the reach of the Black Dragon. If anyone was capable of bringing Hermione's goals to a screeching halt, it was Ronald Weasley.

"They have a new kind of magic," Luna told him. "Capable of defeating Bellatrix."

Ron scoffed. "New magic?" He took in the very serious expression on her face. "How real is this, Luna?"

"Very real. I'll tell you the details, but you will not interfere." Luna conveyed the seriousness of her command with a silent threat in her eyes. "At least not until they've given us our victory."

* * *

 _A/N: Happy New Year!_


	12. To Make a Promise

_A/N: Welcome everybody who joined us last chapter. You came at a great time!_

 _A big thanks to aeireis for catching review #100! There are a handful of you who leave a review EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER, and I just wanted to say how much I love hearing from you guys. You make me excited to keep writing, so thank you!_

* * *

Chapter Twelve: To Make a Promise

 _April 2001_

 _Lestrange Mansion_

 _The potion was just starting to wear off when Rodolphos was called away. Hermione was still fuzzy headed, so she wasn't sure why he left, only that he had stood up sharply from the dinner table, clutching his Dark Mark, and then kissed her gently on the head with promises to return quickly. It took nearly an hour for her to regain her mental capabilities, something that normally occurred after she had been escorted back to her cell. An hour after that, she could summon a book from a few feet away. It felt like moving the Hogwarts Express. She did her best to destroy the room._

 _Hermione slumped to the floor, breathing hard and shaking and staring at the bed, the luxe comforter pushed to one side. It was red and black. She had never noticed that before. She had felt the rough silk embroidery scratch her cheek, heard the sound of him moving across the shiny fabric, but had never truly_ seen _the color. The potion she was fed before being escorted to this cursed room dulled more than just her magic._

 _A piece of shattered mirror winked at her from underneath the plush blanket. She used it to cut open her arm, slicing the word_ Mudblood _cleanly in two._

* * *

"Luna Lovegood!" Hermione shrieked. "You stole that from George!"

The blonde woman looked entirely unrepentant. "Yes, I did."

Luna was sitting against a tree, rolling the Exploding Eggbomb from hand to hand across the grass. Sunday Dinner had evolved into a full blown wedding reception for Dean and Seamus, complete with dancing and singing and stolen sips of alcohol. Hermione was still reeling from her dance with Draco, her head spinning as if she too had taken a drink from George's flask. Her skin felt flushed and hot. Her knees were weak, which she had always assumed was a figure of speech, having never believed that something so ridiculous could be possible.

He had been a perfect gentleman during their dance, friendly and never making her feel uncomfortable. After the initial awkwardness had passed, Hermione had been a bit disappointed in the distance between them. The experienced twenty-five-year-old woman recognized the glint of lust in his eyes when they had bantered back and forth at the table. But the Hermione who had felt not the smallest flicker of sexual attraction in five years- the Hermione who doubted her ability to even act on such feelings- was confused by his abrupt departure after their dance. She had left the tent not long after Draco, looking for a bit of quiet in which to clear her head.

"That's . . ." Hermione sputtered. "Well that's bloody dangerous!"

Luna shrugged and stood up. "And?"

"And?" Hermione was incredulous. "And, you'll return it immediately!"

"I will not!" Luna spun around, suddenly angry. "I need it!"

"Why do you need it? Those bombs are not authorized for any missions, only the final battle."

"I know that!" She was pacing now, tugging on her braids. "I'm saving it for the final battle."

"Okay," Hermione lowered her voice, trying to soothe her friend. "Fine. Keep it. But please don't carry it around. I don't want you in pieces; I want you fighting."

"What difference does it make?" she spat out, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "You won't be there either way!"

"I won't be where?" Hermione was trying to follow Luna's thought process.

"You'll be flying above all of us, fighting a battle I can't fight," Luna's face had gone wild. Hermione could feel magic pouring off her in waves, making the hair on her arms stand up. "Fighting with _them_."

"I'm not _abandoning_ you!" Hermione was astounded. Thinking back, she realized that Luna had been more reserved lately, more subdued. She felt awful for not noticing Luna's recent agitation. Luna was family. More than family. She and Luna shared a piece of their souls, the dark, slimy part that only the other could truly understand.

Luna clutched at her stomach as if in pain. "We've always fought together. Always. You and me."

"I know." Hermione stepped closer, only to have Luna spin and a pace away from her.

"You are my shield, and I am yours. We watch each other's backs and we always come back alive!" She was muttering alliterations under her breath.

"I want you beside me," Hermione tried to sound reassuring. "But I can't turn away from this to fight with you. This is too important."

"Too important? You mean _more_ important."

"We can fight apart, or die together!" Hermione hissed. "You haven't seen the numbers. We're better trained, but we're outnumbered three to one." She was breathing hard. "And they have the Black Dragon. Remember the battle at Gansey? She killed twenty people with a single pass over the battlefield."

Luna had stopped pacing and drifted closer.

"We can't hide in the castle, we'd never withstand a siege. We can't fight in the open, because Bellatrix will slaughter us in a matter of minutes. But if we had a way to keep her off the field, and kill her without a single spell, we could let our soldiers do what they do best."

"It's not fair. You know I'm powerful enough to handle this ritual," Luna cried. "They're trying to keep you away from me!"

"Nobody could ever keep me away from you, Luna," Hermione stated bluntly. "I'm not sure how Blaise did his calculations -" That was a lie. Hermione had calculated her own Arthimantic probabilities and had come to the exact same conclusions, except her list was one name longer. She did, however, understand their reluctance to turn Luna into a fire-breathing monster. "But I know he's the best at what he does. I can't risk your life in pursuit of something so dangerous when I need you on the battlefield."

"I don't like it."

Hermione curled their fingers together in the way they always had. "I don't like it either."

After a moment she asked, "How did you know you weren't on the list?"

Luna looked at her pityingly. "I saw it yesterday. Zabini left it in the lab."

"You snuck into the castle to root around in the lab and you didn't stop to say hello?"

Luna ignored her and sat down against the tree again. Hermione sat beside her. They stared at the glow of the party through the trees. Hermione leaned into Luna playfully, a conversation she'd had earlier in the night coming to mind.

"Remember when we used to go drinking?"

Luna sighed. "What's to remember?"

"Remember that guy in Edinburgh?" Hermione was smiling hugely. "We were staking out the warehouse across the street from that Muggle pub?"

"Oh Merlin, that wanker."

Hermione deepened her voice. "Is it sunrise already?"

Luna snorted and they both spoke, ". . . Or is that just you lighting up my world?"

The sound of Luna's laugh was like a sweet balm on Hermione's chaotic thoughts.

"Every night for two weeks," Hermione chuckled. "I think he was a bit in love with you."

"He just wanted to get a leg over," Luna replied derisively, though she was still smiling.

After a moment of silence, Hermione spoke again. "When this is all over, we can go back."

"Go back?"

"To every pub, every Muggle dance club we went to before . . ." When Hermione craned her neck, she saw that Luna looked wistful. "I promise. We just have to get through the next couple weeks. Then we'll have all the time in the world."

"Okay." It was barely a whisper.

Both of their smiles faded quickly in the silence that followed They sat together while the sounds of Sunday Dinner faded and the tent was taken down. It was nearly dawn when they separated, Luna to her tree and Hermione to her room, neither of them satisfied with the outcome of their conversation.

* * *

Hermione could feel the sweat beading up on her neck. She had fastened a kerchief around her head to keep the perspiration out of her eyes. The glass stirring stick had been charmed to stir the potion three times clockwise, then five times counter clockwise, every five minutes. Hermione had taken over the stirring herself, appalled that Persia had felt it appropriate to leave the brew under a spell.

The Fangjuice Potion was a beautiful crystalline green. Persia had added the dragon's blood the day before and now it needed to simmer - with proper stirring intervals - for ninety-six hours and twenty-nine minutes.

"It will be ready in four days," she told Blaise and Theo. They had appeared some time after breakfast to check on the bubbling concoction, only to find Hermione already there. She had only left the Potions lab for a few hours at a time over the last three days, determined that the concoction should be perfect. Hermione had more responsibilities than the Purebloods, but none of them could move about as freely or make excuses and be forgiven. "Thank the gods Harry found this gold cauldron."

"I still can't believe he was _unaware_ that he owned an item made of solid gold." Theo was leaning over her shoulder and looking dubiously at the liquid bubbling merrily away.

"I can," Hermione murmured, completing the last stir and reluctantly setting the stick to stir itself.

Draco walked in then, took a look at her face and hissed in disgust. "You didn't sleep last night, did you?"

"There are no councils today," Hermione said, her face warming. Did she look that tired? "I'll take a nap after my work duties."

Hermione moved away from the table as Draco moved closer. His hair was still damp from his shower, and she was painfully aware that she hadn't yet bathed.

He eyed her skeptically then inspected the potion. "Four days?"

"Yes, that's right." If he made a single comment about the quality of her stirring, she would hex him. "I'm trying to get yours and Pansy's schedules cleared for a couple days after the potion matures so we can focus solely on the meditation, but I'm having trouble coming up with plausible excuses."

"You'll think of something." Draco sniffed at the cauldron, then wrinkled his nose.

"We still need a place to perform the ritual," Theo reminded her.

"I know." Hermione pulled the kerchief from her hair and used it to wipe the sweat from her face. "We can use the portkey to Albania," It was the same hilltop upon which Hermione had first witnessed Draco transform. "But I'm reluctant to disappear from Hogwarts entirely when we're this close to the battle."

"So think of something better," Blaise suggested.

"Very helpful, love," Theo chuckled.

"In the meantime," Hermione said, turning to Draco. He looked up from scrutinizing the cauldron fire with raised brows. "We have work to do."

His grey eyes turned apprehensive. Hermione was fully aware that her smile was bright with evil anticipation. Ten minutes later, it got better.

"Is this some kind of punishment?" he asked her, despondent.

Hermione fought a chuckle. "You voluntarily spent two nights trapped in a potion's lab with the Parkinsons," she said. "What could possibly be worse than that?"

"This," he stated, indicating the scene before him. "This is worse."

"We need to get the animals prepped to move," she reminded. "And nearly everyone is in the fields. You're complaining more than the children." At her words, Lily and Teddy came through the wide wooden gate. Teddy carried a stool and Lily followed him lugging a bucket nearly bigger than her.

"There is no way I would allow them anywhere near those beasts," Draco sniffed. "They look likely to chew a hand off."

"They're cows, Draco," she told him flatly. "They eat grass, not human flesh."

"I was talking about the children."

"I want to do it, Teddy," Lily was exclaiming. "I can do it myself."

"Okay Lils," the boy responded, rolling his eyes, which were grey again today. "But you have to be gentle. No yanking on Betsy."

Lily put the pail beneath the engorged udders and scooted herself onto the stool. She crooned to the cow gently when it twitched and shuffled as her fingers grasped a dangling bit of flesh.

"Are you sure that's safe?" Draco appeared genuinely concerned. It was hilarious.

"I'm a big girl, Draco," Lily chirped as she began gently pulling great streams of milk out of the udder. "I can do it by myself."

The bucket was rapidly filling and the cow lost interest, returning to the trough of alfalfa.

"Well done, child," he applauded, looking impressed. He crossed his arms. "It doesn't look that hard. Absolutely disgusting, but not difficult."

"Good, because that one's yours." Hermione pointed to the second cow placidly chewing away. He paled slightly. It was August, but it felt like Christmas to Hermione.

"You're enjoying this too much," he complained into her huge grin.

Hermione showed him how to properly roll the teat through his fingers to bring forth the milk. Half the bucket was filled when he waved her away impatiently. He approached the animal with his usual grace, only grimacing when he was seated before it. The cow didn't spare him a glance, even when he took a nipple in each hand. He started grumbling immediately.

". . . repulsive. . ."

". . . mud all over the place. . ."

". . . never drink milk again. . ."

He was doing it wrong. Hermione itched to show him the correct way, but a larger part of her was happy to stand back and let him fail. A few attempts and he was getting frustrated. He must have been taking his irritation out on the cow, because he yanked a bit too hard and it shifted in discomfort. It let out a groan and stepped away from him, kicking the bucket on its way out. Hot milk splashed all over his legs. He leapt back in disgust and ended up on his arse in the cold mud, milk spreading out underneath him. A startled, high-pitched exclamation left his mouth.

Hermione let out a hysterical whoop. The kids were grinning at him delightedly. The thick liquid made a pool around him and started to seep into his pants.

"Fuck," he stated.

Teddy's eyes got huge at the word. Lily giggled and started dancing around screaming, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

The curse word coming out of the mouth of a toddler made her laughter come faster. It was deep and rolling and felt amazing. Malfoy was watching her from his seat in the mud. He let out a cough of amusement. The sound was rusty.

Lily looked about to jump in the mess as well, so Hermione grabbed her from behind. "Oh no you don't," she gasped. "Go find your mother."

"Come on Lily." Teddy took her little hand, eyeing the adults. "Let's go feed the chickens with your Mum and Gran."

Draco attempted to stand, but just as he gained his feet, his boot slipped in the mud and he went down again, this time on his front. Another wave of merriment attacked her, complete with a snort. He pushed his way back to a seated position and inspected the mess on his clothes.

"I hate you," he declared with a chortle. He was shaking with laughter a moment later. "I don't think I can get up," he gasped.

There were tears running down her face when Hermione stumbled over to him. She braced herself on his shoulder for a moment, trying to catch her breath. He was wheezing with mirth, trying to clear his muddy hands by shaking them. He was failing. Hermione could detect the faint odor of feces mixed in with the wet dirt. She straightened and offered him her hand. A light of devious intention appeared in his eyes the moment he gripped her outstretched hand.

"Don't even think about it!" She screeched a moment before he had her flat on her back. The mud was chilly and seeping into her sweater. "Oh, you shit!"

He was laughing in great, creaking guffaws, holding his ribs as if they hurt. She scrambled upright, her arms outstretched and covered in mud. It was in her hair, slithering down her neck. "Ungh."

She tried to scramble up, but was stopped when he took hold of her ankle. "Not so fast."

Draco tugged, sending her back down. She screeched. His laughter was cut short when she clawed clump of mud together and heaved it at his head. He ducked, but it still slapped against the side of his face. He gasped when it slid down his shirt. Hermione chortled. Growling, Draco crawled over the mud until he was looking down on her giggling face. He slapped a clump of muck against her neck then slid it down her front, grinding it into the knitted wool.

"That's not fair!" she gasped, striking his shoulder. "And this is my favorite jumper!"

He was laughing again, his eyes wide and sparkling. It was difficult for Hermione to catch her breath. Her gaze was ripped from his when the darkening sky let loose a flash of lightning. Thunder cracked overhead and the sky dumped a torrent of cold rain on them. Draco had her out of the mud in an instant and began tugging her toward the nearby feed shelter. They jogged over to it with their muddy hands clasped, slipping and sliding in the mud.

The roof provided a small overhang under which they could stay relatively dry. Or keep from getting any more wet. They ended up standing quite close together in order to keep under the bit of cover.

"It shouldn't last long," she opined.

He hummed in agreement, trying to brush some of the muck from his sleeves. It was summer, but they were in Scotland. With the sun smothered by heavy clouds, much of the warmth of the day disappeared. Hermione found herself unconsciously moving a bit closer, remembering how warm his body had been when it lay next to hers in bed. There was mud drying on his cheek, but there was color in his usually pale cheeks, and his lips remained curled upward in the corners.

She realized she was staring at those lips, her breath suddenly too large for her lungs. Like a magnet, his mouth drew her forward until she swayed into him, so close their breath mingled. Embarrassed, she blinked and drew back, but he followed, catching her upper lip between his in a brief touch. It was tiny, no more than a brushing of warm skin, but it felt like lightning. Her blood danced backwards in her veins. Her heart was loud in her ears. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Hermione closed the last bit of space between them.

His lips were warm and soft. A musical gasp left her mouth at the sensation. She felt the need to curl her fingers into his shirt, taking hold so she wouldn't slide to the ground. He groaned deep in his throat and swept his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like tea and mint and Draco, and ever so faintly of mud. She had never been so moved by such ordinary flavors, the underlying thread of Draco making them bright and necessary. As he kissed her, one of his hands came up to cup her face, his long fingers gently caressing the curls at her temple. His other hand was on her lower back, pressing their bodies together. Hermione was warm every place his body touched hers.

They broke apart to breathe. Draco pressed a swift kiss to her nose, his chest heaving. When Hermione looked up at him in a daze, she saw his eyes go from glassy and dark with passion to wide with panic. He broke away from her, leaving her cold. After a brief moment of indecision, he turned and stalked into the rain.

She should be angry that he had walked away from her again, yet she was incapable of feeling anything but cold hurt. Hermione followed him. The rain instantly soaked through her muddy clothes. He was pacing around, pushing a hand through his wet hair. It was a gesture she remembered vaguely from their time in school, when she had been watching him closely for signs of his allegiance to Voldemort. It was the most unhinged she had ever seen him.

"I'm sorry," he called out to her over the noise of the rain.

A ball of lead dropped into her belly. She did her best to keep the disappointment from her face. "Why are you apologizing? I kissed you."

He laughed a bit desperately. "That doesn't matter."

"Really?" It mattered quite a bit to Hermione. "Then why are you so upset?"

"Because I want you!" he burst out. "All the fucking time!" He was pacing again. "You're in my gods damned dreams! I can smell you every-fucking-where I go!"

Her heart soared at his words, even though not all of them made sense, and even though he was so obviously angry about his feelings.

"How can I possibly resist you when he's always there? Breathing down my neck and demanding I find you, protect you, fuck you?"

Hermione blinked at the vulgar language. "Someone is forcing you to have feelings for me?"

"First of all, I don't _have feelings_ for you." He visibly shuddered. "Secondly, not _someone_. Him. The bloody beast that lives in the back of my head."

Her mind made a few leaps. "You have a dragon consciousness. Like werewolves."

"More like a parasite that's sucking away all of my free will."

"Fascinating!" She was instantly excited by this revelation, but then she realized what he had actually said. "So you didn't want to kiss me?"

Draco hesitated. "I don't know."

Hermione was getting angry. "Well, you didn't seem to be doing anything against your will."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I've never thought of you that way. Never. You're Hermione-Fucking-Granger."

It sounded like an insult. "What does _that_ mean?"

"I do not snog Hermione-Fucking-Granger! And in the rain? How cliche!" He was obviously disgusted. "I do not have dreams about Hermione-Fucking-Granger naked in my bed."

"Stop saying my name like that!" Hermione was astounded. "You've had dreams about me?"

"They won't go away," he was almost talking to himself. " _You_ won't go away. You're every fucking where I go."

"So sorry to burden you with my presence!"

He sneered at her. "You know, for someone so smart, you're being rather dense."

"No, I get it!" she seethed. "You don't want anything to do with me. Your animal instincts are driving to you touch me, even though you hate the idea and find me disgusting."

A web of magic vibrated across the palms of her hands. She clenched them into fists and forcibly checked herself.

He threw his hands up. "That's what you got out of what I just said? Are you not listening to me?"

"I think you've made yourself quite clear."

The rain had stopped, and they both stood soaked to the skin with their shoes sunk in the mud. Everything was bright with sunlight and water. Hermione squinted against the light, a headache throbbing behind her eyes. She silently willed him to take it back, to admit that he wanted her as she wanted him, that the time they had spent together over the last ten days meant something. Had it only been ten days? It felt like years.

"Don't you understand?" He yanked back the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the sinister mark on his forearm. "I am poisoned. I do not allow myself to think of you in that way."

"But you're on our side," she objected, appalled at the self-hatred in his voice. "You've been fighting with us for years."

"Too little, too late."

"I don't agree!"

Draco scoffed. "You and Potter and Weasley have been battling the darkness from day one. I wasn't even fully aware of what was going on until later." He laughed without humor. "And when it was my turn to make choices, I made every single one to benefit myself."

"You did the best you could." It was dizzying to follow him with her eyes. "You were just a child. We were all children."

"Don't fool yourself. I _wanted_ it." he snarled. "I wanted the power, the prestige, I wanted to feel important."

"So what changed?"

He drifted closer. "I do have a conscience, Granger. My vanity took second place to the horrors I was witnessing. Then all of it rotted away." He stepped into her space. "But you saved us."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed.

"That last year at Hogwarts I hated you for doing what I couldn't. Then it was over and the weight of everything I had done was killing me slowly. And then you walked up to me with forgiveness in your hands. As if I was worthy of a second chance."

It was becoming difficult to breathe again. "So you fought against Bellatrix because I forgave you?"

"I wanted to deserve your forgiveness," he said bitterly.

"I think you've earned it by now." Hermione wasn't sure what to say. "Though I don't think it's necessary. It's war. We've all done horrible things. I have done horrible things."

"No," he shook his head, his grey eyes distant. "Not like me."

"What could you possibly have done?" It was a whisper. She was afraid of the answer, afraid of an act that had made Draco Malfoy risk his life for years in order to repent.

He took a step backwards, shoulders slumped in defeat. It felt like a chasm had opened between them. "I didn't stop him." He swallowed. "I knew what he was going to do. But I just couldn't bring myself to kill my own father."

"I don't understand, Draco."

"My father," he said hoarsely. "He brought Bellatrix back."

* * *

 _A/N: A kiss finally!_

 _Poor, guilty Draco. Surprised? Saw it coming?_


	13. To Reveal a Truth

_A/N: The response to the last chapter was amazing! Thanks to everyone who reviewed and welcome to all the new followers who came over from yet ANOTHER Delancey rec. If anybody knows Delancey654 in real life, would you please give her/him a hug for me?_

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: To Reveal a Truth

 _April 2001_

 _Lestrange Mansion_

" _Ms. Granger."_

 _Hermione was floating in a lovely dark place when she heard her name. She pointedly ignored it._

" _Hermione."_

 _Who the hell was interrupting her peace? Didn't they know that this dark, quiet cocoon was all she wanted? She was surfacing, becoming more aware of her surroundings. It was cold. She could smell the familiar, yet terrifying scent of her prison cell._

" _Hermione, wake up you stupid girl!"_

 _Hermione blinked, the world coming into focus slowly. There was a person standing over her cot, covered in blood. It was a woman, hands on hips, clearly irritated that Hermione was taking so long to come completely to consciousness._

 _Memories rushed back of the room, the tantrum and the broken glass. The lightning quick pain followed by quiet, dizzy lassitude as the blood left her body. Then nothing._

 _The woman was talking. "I never thought you would take the cowardly way out."_

 _The witch stood with poised grace as if the several pints of Muggle-Born blood decorating her expensive dress was a mere inconvenience. There was no guard. They assumed correctly that Hermione was no threat whatsoever. A cool pair of grey eyes watched her with as much regard as one might look upon a dog._

" _Malfoy," Hermione croaked._

" _That's right Ms. Granger." A single blonde eyebrow communicated her disdain. "I've saved your life. I do hope you'll take better care in the future."_

" _Fuck off." It was the best she could do to convey her utter hatred of the woman. The only chance at freedom in over four months, and Hermione had failed, thwarted by a blonde demon. It was too much. Her head was spinning and all she wanted to do was close her eyes._

" _Keep that anger." It was said softly. "You'll need it in the near future."_

 _The she was gone, and Hermione sank back into darkness._

* * *

The sun was setting when Hermione showed up to pester Pansy.

"He's avoiding me isn't he?" she demanded.

Pansy coughed a laugh and set down the stack of pots she had been moving with the aid of a weightless charm. The greenhouses were being consolidated. Neville had decided not to try and relocate the entirety of Hogwarts's greenhouses, only selecting a few very rare or very valuable species to be moved. They were to be taken to Sweden with the civilians who had already begun Portkeying away from Hogwarts grounds.

Hermione was sitting on an upside down pot, chin in her hand. "Two days with no contact?" she grumbled. "Not even in passing?"

"He's very adept at dodging things that make him uncomfortable." Pansy sighed inwardly and settled against the long potting table. She wasn't equipped to deal with people who whinged about their problems instead of taking action.

"He ran away before I could even process what he said!" Hermione complained.

"He's very good at that too," Pansy agreed. Running away while maintaining one's dignity was an art. Draco had botched it royally. It was proof of just how affected he had been. "He's practicing the worst sort of self-preservation."

"It might actually have been a good thing," Hermione conceded quietly. "I'm not sure what I would have said if he'd stayed."

"What did he tell you, exactly?" Pansy regretted the question as soon as it left her lips. She didn't want to get involved in this.

"He said he knew that his father was going to resurrect Bellatrix and didn't stop him."

Normally, Pansy would rather die than divulge information about someone who she considered to be family. It was a rule that had been ingrained upon her for years in Slytherin, and later as she navigated the dangerous waters of Bellatrix's Pureblood society. Now that she was being forced to listen to Draco whinge about how much Hermione hated him, and Hermione fuss about how Draco wouldn't talk to her, she was rapidly adjusting her ethical viewpoint.

"I'm sure he made it seem like he simply stood back and watched while his father performed necromancy, but it wasn't like that." Pansy crossed her arms. "He didn't know about his father's plan. When he found out, he fought with himself about it for days. Wouldn't come out of his rooms even to eat." She felt a shiver at the memory. "When he did emerge, it was nearly too late."

 _"Nearly_ too late?" Hermione asked. "So Draco could have stopped him?"

"Potter could have made sure the woman was burned to ashes instead of buried, but he didn't, did he?" Pansy returned.

Hermione bristled. "That's not fair! None of us thought-"

"None of you were thinking at all, clearly." Pansy was getting irritated. "I wasn't there when Draco tried to stop his father, but I found him later, curled up in a ball and inconsolable. From what I could understand through his sobs, Lucius had completed most of the ritual by the time Draco found him. Draco would have had to kill his own father in order to stop him. He couldn't."

Hermione sat back in frustration. "I understand that," she acceded, but there was still a glint of doubt in her eyes.

Pansy tried to remember that woman had experienced terrible things at the hands of the Legion. Things Pansy couldn't even fathom. She took a breath and continued, "No matter who Lucius is to you, or what evil he wreaks upon the world, he loves his son dearly. And Draco knew that. Lucius may not have been a good father, but he always did what he thought was best for his son.

"Draco may have failed to kill his father the first time around, but he won't make that mistake again." Pansy hesitated. "The necromancy changed Lucius irreparably, and his closeness with Bellatrix destroyed what was left of his soul. Draco didn't cast the spell, but his father died that night all the same."

The curly-haired witch was staring at nothing, biting her lip. Eventually, she nodded to herself. "Thank you, Pansy. I know that was hard for you."

Pansy sneered. "Let's not have a moment, alright?"

"Gods forbid," Hermione chuckled and waved over her shoulder. Neville entered the greenhouse at the same time Hermione was leaving. They stopped and spoke briefly before Hermione left.

"Ready to pack it in for the night?" he asked Pansy. She nodded in agreement.

Pansy watched Neville extinguish the witch lights one at a time, singing under his breath. He was completely tone deaf, but it was endearing all the same. The white collared shirt he wore was different than his usual old, short-sleeved rag. She watched his shoulders move underneath the white cotton fabric, watched the way his worn denims still managed to outline his bum perfectly. He had rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, showcasing the cords and veins on his forearms. It was probably the sexiest thing Pansy had ever seen, made more so by the fact that it was entirely unintentional.

He made his way back to the door and smiled down at her, his even white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. There was a smudge of dirt on his shirt near the collar. Pansy reached up to brush it away and their eyes caught and held. A warm tingle started in her belly and moved to her limbs. The constant state of arousal she felt in his presence was all tangled up with a strange sense of well-being and safety that only Neville could provoke. Well, she thought ruefully, there goes the last of my dignity, and probably my heart. She stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

Neville considered himself an observant man. He had noticed Pansy's intellect, her enviable efficiency with a wand- or without, much to his surprise- and the way she loved the greenhouse, even though she complained incessantly. There was a grace in the way she moved that spoke to years of training. Even in hand me down clothes, sweating and dirty, she was elegant. She was poised and beautiful in the way of a glittering blade. There was nothing soft about Pansy Parkinson, except perhaps her body, about which he had strictly forbidden himself from fantasizing.

The flirting had come to his attention in an absentminded way. He had supposed it was a natural part of her personality, brought out as she became more comfortable around him. It had been odd to experience Pansy without the usual sarcasm and mean-spirited badgering. He had felt the rough side of her tongue on more than one occasion. Neville was utterly astonished, therefore, when that very tongue pulled a groan deep from his chest as it licked its way around his ear. Apparently, he hadn't been paying close enough attention.

He sucked on the skin of her neck, drawing deep to leave a mark. She gasped and curled her fingers against his scalp. Her mouth was already reddened and beautiful from the attentions of his lips and teeth and tongue. She stepped out of her trousers after pulling his shirt over his head. It took him only a moment to remove her shirt as well.

The feel of her skin against his was a revelation. How could anyone have skin so smooth? He worried that the callouses on his hands would mar the perfection of her body, but she never stopped to complain. Instead, she tugged on his neck, pulling him closer as she walked him over to the potting table, stumbling only a few times as they attempted to move without breaking their kiss. He lifted her under her arms and sat her on the table so they were eye to eye.

"Bloody hell, you're strong!" she laughed as she ran her fingers over his chest in admiration. Neville let the compliment pump up his pride a bit before he unhooked her lacy bra.

Her breasts were soft and fit in his hands perfectly. She gasped when he pulled one pert nipple into his mouth, then swiftly retaliated by unzipping his trousers. His world narrowed to the sensation of her fingers around his cock and his mouth on her skin. The sounds of approval she was making only urged him on. His fingers slipped under the edge of her knickers, intent on pulling them off, but he paused. This couldn't really be happening. A beautiful, smart, and powerful woman wanted to sleep with him? He must have misunderstood her intentions.

"Is this okay?" he whispered between kisses. "Is this what you wanted?"

He needed to be sure. Because looking at her as she was now-nearly naked, her skin glowing in the moonlight, her tip-tilted eyes sparkling with fairy motes-he thought it might kill him to stop once this last barrier between them was removed. Her dark eyes went wide at the question and she smiled, the first full and real smile he had ever seen from her.

"I want you," she said simply.

The words incited a wave of heat that flowed through his body. She leaned forward and kissed him on the chin before lifting her bum off the table so he could easily slide the scrap of fabric to the floor. He stepped between her legs, pulling her gently towards him. She leaned back and supported herself on her hands, wrapping her legs around his hips.

Nestled between her thighs, he could feel her slick heat, the evidence of her desire so blatant it made his heart stutter. He started moving slowly, sliding through her folds without actually penetrating her, while he plundered her mouth. There was no rush, in his opinion. As good as it felt to have her naked and moaning, he knew it could only get better. He wanted to take his time and make this good for her.

"Neville," she panted, breaking away. "This feels amazing and I love everything you're doing, but I'm going to come soon, and I'd rather do it with you inside me."

She ended the request with a nip at his lower lip that made Neville rush to do exactly as she asked. They both sucked in great lungfuls of air when they were finally joined. Pansy threw back her head and arched her back, bringing her hips off the table and tight against his own. Her hair was a sheet of straight, glossy black silk behind her. Neville had never seen anything so beautiful.

Then there was nothing but Neville moving, grinding, sliding against Pansy, listening to her sounds of pleasure. She wrapped a hand around his shoulder and pulled herself forward until she was flush with him, her nipples grazing his chest with every thrust. He gripped her tight around her waist to steady her and picked up his pace. There were stars building behind his eyelids as he struggled to stave off his orgasm. Pansy was breathing in short, staccato gasps, letting out short cries of bliss when she suddenly stiffened and dug her nails into his skin.

"Neville!" she screamed as she tightened around him, ripping his own orgasm from his body like lightning.

Neville held her close to him with shaking arms as they both caught their breath. After only a few minutes, and long before Neville would have liked, Pansy pulled away. There was a sheen of sweat on her skin that Neville wanted to lick away. His pulse was still drumming in his ears when she smiled brightly at him. A fake smile.

"Well that was lovely," she said as she dropped her feet to the floor. She started to collect her clothes.

"Lovely," he repeated, not quite sure of himself. The word didn't encompass Neville's experience at all. He was confused. Had he done something to upset her? Why was she so eager to run off? Did she regret it?

Neville didn't want her to leave, but she seemed determined to get dressed as quickly as possible, all while avoiding eye contact with him. He pulled his trousers back on even as he watched her set herself apart from him with every move. Much of the softness was gone, and Neville missed it. He searched his mind for something to say that didn't sound like he was begging her to stay.

"I'll just be going then." The words were offhand, but Neville noticed the vulnerability in the way she hesitated at the door. A light went off in his head as he discovered something important about Pansy Parkinson. Neville considered himself an observant man, and he was finally seeing the right things.

"Are we going to my room or yours?" he asked casually.

Pansy stopped short. Her shoulders dropped with relief and she smiled at him, another real smile.

"Yours," she replied.

They walked slowly back to the castle hand in hand.

* * *

Draco had chosen a vegetable quiche with crusty bread and a fruit salad from the breakfast buffet set out by the castle elves. The Order soldiers were enamored with the sheer amount of food they were being offered as the castle attempted to ready itself for battle, but Draco found he had little appetite. He picked at the egg concoction, pushing bits of onion and tomato around his plate while he kept an eye on the dining hall doors. It was too late in the day for Granger to be breaking her fast, but he wanted to be sure he wasn't caught unawares. The damned woman could be sneaky when she so desired.

His mother sat across from him and ate with the same well-bred grace with which she did everything. If his silence bothered her, she gave no sign. It was a skill she had perfected long ago. If anyone were to look closely, they might see the signs of strain around her eyes. The coming battle was weighing heavily on Narcissa, as was her decision to leave for Sweden with the civilians. Draco had spent hour after exhausting hour convincing her that it was the right thing to do. He didn't need his mother around to watch him fight and die.

Draco shifted in his chair and rubbed at his burning Dark Mark. Bellatrix had resumed her torture of him sometime in the night. He was stifling in his long-sleeved shirt. It was warm at their table. Too warm. The sun was slanting through the large windows directly onto their heads, making Narcissa's hair glow like warm silver.

"You should stop charming your hair," Draco told her. "He's not around to care if you're blonde or brunette."

Narcissa sniffed and took a sip of tea. "I do it for myself. It makes me look younger." She sighed. "You father stopped noticing the color of my hair about the same time he moved into my sister's rooms."

Draco grunted and fingered his fork absently.

"She knows you're avoiding her," Narcissa said blandly.

"Does she?" Draco slouched back in his chair, separating the various vegetables on his plate into neat piles.

He had hoped nobody had noticed his childish behavior. The Dragon was miserable, grumbling at him constantly for the last three days. Normally, he would have strutted around arrogantly, maybe intentionally pushed Granger's buttons just to prove he was in no way afraid of her, but the horror he had seen in her eyes the day he had told her his darkest truth was far worse than any embarrassment he was now suffering.

Swallowing his pride, he had worked himself to the bone and attended every single meeting into which he could gain entry, all in an effort to keep away from Granger. In the end, it had been disappointingly easy. She hadn't sought him out or even objected when he passed by her in the hall with only a nod. Her Gryffindor nature would never allow her to back away from a challenge, so the fact that she had simply allowed him to avoid her was just more evidence that she hated him.

"While I applaud your plan to give her time to process your rather abrupt confession," Narcissa continued delicately. "It does neither of you any good to avoid the fallout."

It was an argument she had presented before. "Fallout?" he huffed. "Don't be so dramatic."

She smiled at him serenely. "I'm not the one putting on a performance."

Draco couldn't decide if flinging eggs at his mother would stop her lecture or add fuel to the flame. She would probably brush the food from her clothes and calmly point out his infantile gesture was useless. Then she would hex him into unconsciousness.

"The potion will mature tomorrow," she pointed out. "And you'll be forced to interact whether you like it or not."

"I know."

"So stop acting like a child," Narcissa demanded coolly. "Your dramatics are not impressing anyone, least of all Ms. Granger."

Draco tossed his fork down and stood, unable to take another moment of his mother's self-possessed perfection.

"Thank you for your advice," he gritted out.

"Don't forget that you're escorting me to tea with Andromeda this afternoon." Narcissa touched her lips with her napkin. "Since you are forcing me to leave with my sister, I should like to finalize our plans."

"Of course, Mother," Draco agreed with a bow and left.

It took a few hours of manual labor, but Draco eventually realized he had made a fool of himself. What did he care if Granger hated him? The best way to go forward was to pretend none of it had happened. He would go back to the snide banter they had exchanged before the Dragon had spotted her and before he had discovered the taste of her mouth and the texture of her skin. Swallowing forcibly, he decided he would approach her later. Granger was likely in council with Shacklebolt, Potter and Weasley anyway. Perhaps after tea.

Instead of attending tea later that day, Draco found himself accosted by the female Potter as he and his mother were climbing the steps of his Aunt's house.

"Oh good, I've caught you!" The redhead was all smiles. "I'm trying to pack up the last of Harry's things for the trip to Sweden and I'm afraid they're a bit too heavy. Do you think you could help?" The harpy had asked sweetly, but with a malicious sparkle in her eyes, that made Draco want to refuse flat out.

"You have a wand, don't you?" he sneered.

"Draco." His mother admonished him with a single word, and Draco found himself walking up the path to the Potter's house.

She-Potter-Formerly-Known-As-She-Weasel chatted incessantly as she led him up the stairs of her small home to a nearly empty bedroom. It contained a bed stripped bare, a small dresser, and Hermione Granger. For a moment, he wondered if this was some kind of ploy on Granger's part to get him to acknowledge her presence until he saw the look of utter surprise on her face.

"Draco?" She was frowning at him.

He swung around to Ginny. "What the fuck is this?"

"Pansy says the two of you are driving her batty, and I agree, so talk it out." The woman was standing in front of the door with her arms crossed, effectively blocking his exit.

"You spoke to Pansy?" Granger was astonished. "And everyone survived?"

"With limbs intact," Ginny confirmed. She winked and left the room, closing the door behind her.

The door was sealed shut. Damn that red headed witch! Bloody fucking hell. This was not what he had intended. He pasted a snide grin on his face and leaned casually against the wall, as far from Granger as possible.

"Is she always so nosey?" he asked her.

"When she thinks she's helping." Granger sighed and sat on the bed, the blanket she had been folding next to her. "Worse than I am, to be honest."

"That's saying something." It was mean, he knew, but he was desperate to distance himself.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "At least we can talk now."

"What is there to talk about?" He did his best to sound dismissive. "I let my father resurrect a monster, who then destroyed the world. End of fucking story."

"What is there to talk about?" She started ticking points off on her fingers in the most obnoxious way possible. "I kissed you. You kissed me back. And then you freaked out-"

"I did not freak out!" he objected.

"- and then you tell me something huge and horrible and then just walk away. How could you do that?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," he snarled. "Don't make this into- into _something_."

"What does that mean?" she huffed in irritation. "This is obviously not nothing, so the only conclusion is that this is, in fact, something."

"Don't hurt yourself, Granger," he spat out.

"You're being ridiculous!" The bed creaked as she shifted, crossing her arms.

He was silent. A soft muffling charm settled onto the room, revealing her intentions to continue torturing him. It felt like shackles fastening around his wrists. Maybe he could wait her out. She would talk herself into unconsciousness at some point.

"I know you think you are to blame," Granger continued. "But none of what has happened is your fault."

He eyed her in disbelief. Was she really trying to make him feel better? Where was the rage? The horror? The hatred?

"Well," she amended in the face of his stare. "Not entirely your fault. You were presented with pretty shite choices, and you did what you could."

Was this a forgiveness speech? Fucking hell, he didn't want this. No matter what he had told her while standing knee-deep in mud, he had no interest in her forgiveness. He didn't want to bask in the light of her benevolent grace, he thought acidly. He deserved no such relief. It had not crossed his mind that she could find a way to forgive him. Again. Panic was crawling up his throat. He had to get out this room.

Oblivious to his rising hysteria, she continued, "I've imagined how life might have been if Bellatrix had stayed dead and I've always come to the conclusion that it may not have been better. She wasn't the only one who was willing to finish what Voldemort started. Your father is a prime example."

She stood and took a few steps toward him, sending a wave of citrus scented deliciousness his way. The Dragon uncoiled and demanded Draco move closer. Instead, Draco clenched his hands and breathed through his mouth, desperate to stifle the need to touch her. The woman was intolerable. Draco had made wrong decision after wrong decision, so many that even he was hard pressed to accept them all. What kind of person actively looked for ways to excuse such behavior?

"The blame for this war is not on your shoulders." The compassion in her voice was turning his stomach. "You can only hold yourself responsible for your own choices, and choosing not to kill your own father. . . well, that was a hard decision to make."

It was like she was thumbing through every thought and shining a light on the errors in his self-destructive logic. But she was wrong, so wrong it was almost laughable. He lashed out.

"Don't try to make this less my fault!" he nearly shouted. "You, more than any other, know what the world is like under Bellatrix!" She flinched and fingered her forearm. "She is a sickness brought upon us by _my_ inaction. We are standing here right now, in the last safe place in England, because I failed to take action against the enemy."

Granger's curls bounced as she shook her head violently. "The Order failed, not you. We were arrogant. We thought we had won. We threw parties and congratulated each other and didn't think for one moment that the cowardly Death Eaters might have a backup plan. We allowed the Ministry take the reins of the cleanup instead of doing it ourselves. That steaming pile bureaucratic shite can't do anything right."

"What is wrong with you?" He felt something black and viscous settle in his chest. Shame. "You should hate me!"

"Hate never accomplished much in my life." She looked suddenly exhausted. "It's futile, especially when it's misplaced."

"You're pathetic," he let the words slither out. Her head snapped up and glared at him with bright brown eyes. "I'm so sick of your misled fucking crusade to forgive all my sins. Sick to death of your gods-damned, self-righteous benevolence."

"I am not self-righteous, you arrogant arsehole!" Her cheeks were getting red with ire.

"That's right," he laughed without humor. "I'm arrogant. And prejudiced and entitled and a coward. When will you learn that your forgiveness means nothing! It doesn't change anything!"

A breeze picked up in the room, fluttering the curtains. "You want to paint yourself as some kind of monster, but your friends know better!"

"You don't know me!" he growled. "We're not _friends_ , Granger. You are a means to an end. I would snap your neck if it served my purposes. I would sell you to Bellatrix and burn Hogwarts to the ground if it could get me what I want."

"I don't believe that!" she shouted at him, her hair sparking.

She really should have drawn her wand, he thought maliciously. Now it was time to teach her a lesson about misplaced trust. A wand was unnecessary to pull her across the floor and into his grasp. Then he had her backed against the wall. He loomed over her, pressing into her space. It was intentional. He braced himself on the wall behind her, arms bracketing her head. In the back of his mind, there was a voice that was screaming at him to stop, that he was crossing a line from which he couldn't return. He silenced it, shrugging on his Death Eater persona like an old cloak.

"You don't know anything," he told her coldly.

There was a flicker of fear in her eyes the moment before she moved. He was on the ground before he could blink, a woman half his size kneeling on top of him with her knee jabbed into his sternum. In addition to flipping him bodily to the ground, she had also immobilized him with a nonverbal hex. His wand was on the ground just out of reach of his frozen fingers. It was difficult to take a breath with her full weight centered on his chest. She leaned forward and planted her hands on the floor to either side of his face, a dangerous parody of their former position.

"I'll give you that one for free," she gritted out. "But just know that I could have broken every bone in your body." They were nose to nose, her ragged breath hitting his mouth. The scent of her was laced with a dangerous fury that smelled like embers and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. "You think this whole war hinges on a single choice that you made? Get over yourself, you're not that fucking important!"

Her face softened and sighed. "As for my forgiveness, you have it whether you want it or not. What you choose to do with it is up to you."

She pressed her lips to his briefly, but with enough pressure that he felt it in his belly. In her eyes, Draco saw compassion and a flare of vulnerability that made him want to wrap his arms around her. Then she was gone, and he was released from her spell. He gasped in a deep breath and lay on the floor, his mouth tingling and his ribs aching. He remained in this prone position as he licked the last of her presence from his lips.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he heard Ginny screech from downstairs.

The red-headed woman was all apologies after she helped him off the floor and mended his bruised ribcage.

"Maybe that wasn't such a good idea," she murmured. "I forget just how dangerous she is sometimes. But," she continued brightly, "I'm sure you had it coming, so I don't feel that bad."

Draco had, in fact, had it coming. He was still reeling. It was a strange thing to be bludgeoned over the head with the truth by a tiny slip of a witch. It was a feat none of his friends or family had managed to accomplish, and they had tried repeatedly over the years.

 _You're not that fucking important._

He started to chuckle. It quickly turned into a full belly laugh. He doubled over as his eyes filled with tears of mirth. Ginny looked at him askance.

"You going to be alright, Malfoy?" she asked warily.

Draco didn't bother to answer. In the grand scheme of things, he very much doubted he would be alright, but in that moment, as he wiped the wetness from his eyes, he felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Bloody fucking Gryffindors, he mused as he left the house whistling under his breath.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _I'm currently making my way through Delancey654's "Better Off Forgotten." I know most of you came over from one of her/his fics, but if you haven't read this story DO IT. Oh my_ god _it's addicting! Muggle-borns have been repatriated to the Muggle world with their memories obliviated, there's a fertility curse on former Death Eaters, and Hermione might just be the key to fixing all of it. Amazing!_

 _And as always, I'd love to hear from you._


	14. To Scent the Wind

_A/N: Sorry about the long wait, I had an over-abundance of adulting to do this week. The reviews last chapter were great! I thank everyone who dropped me a line, you guys are my inspiration._

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: To Scent the Wind

 _April 2001_

 _Lestrange Mansion_

 _The woman was broken. It had taken less than an hour under Alecto's tutelage. The Order member had been captured a few days before and was in rough shape by the time she caught the female Carrow's eye. Luna thought she recognized the woman from Before- before her cell before she was tortured and interrogated before she spilled every secret she knew before her Master had found her. That time was fuzzy. The only time that mattered was now._

 _The captive had dark skin, wide brown eyes, and hair pulled away from her face in dozens of tiny braids. Like Luna's braids. She called out for mercy using Luna's name. It was unsettling, but her Master kept her focused. Now the woman was bleeding, babbling, and begging on the floor as Luna wiped her knife clean on her pants._

 _Alecto slid an arm around Luna's waist and nipped at her ear. "Very well done, pet."_

 _Luna preened._

 _"Luna!" The woman sobbed, reaching for her. "Have mercy."_

 _Luna thought she heard screaming. It was quiet as if it came from a long distance, or from inside a well-insulated room. The sound was familiar. She realized it was her own voice, ragged with agony and overuse, and it was coming from inside her. She stood, silent and perplexed, a bloody not-so-stranger on her knees before her, and tried to determine how it was possible to be screaming with her mouth shut. The longer she stared at the dark-skinned woman, the louder the screaming in her head became. When Luna slid her knife across her captive's throat, the noise stopped, and Luna felt the last vestiges of her past self retreat into a dark place._

* * *

The Order had interrogation rooms. They were severely lacking in Luna's opinion. There was not a single torture device on Hogwarts grounds. Even Veritaserum was used under strict rules and regulations. Enemies were rarely kept as prisoners, but even when the Order had a living source of information readily on hand, there was little that could be done to force them to talk. It was a complete waste.

It was for this reason that Luna felt little to no anxiety as she sat across from Auror Dawlish. He was demanding information from her, information she was reluctant to give. Luna knew that she was not well loved, but those pesky ethics kept him from threatening physical pain. Not that it mattered either way. Pain was no longer a motivator for her. Luna stared at him in silence and wondered if the vein throbbing at his temple might burst if she provoked him. The longer she kept her mouth shut, the greater that vein pulsed.

Briefly, Luna played with the idea of telling him what he wanted to know. There was only one person who mattered, and Luna ran through the possible consequences for that person as she contemplated her choices. The worst case would mean execution. This had only happened once since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the spy had been caught red handed. It was more likely that Hermione would lose credibility and possibly her captaincy.

This war was ending anyway, Luna reasoned. If any of them made it out alive, rank would matter little. She and Hermione could move to France or Sweden and start again. The room was pressing in on her the longer she sat inside. It was becoming difficult to keep herself in check. Perhaps the Auror was better at torture than he realized.

Dawlish was ready to uncork the Veritaserum. Luna could see it in the way his eye was twitching with anger at her silence. The potion always hit her like a babbling hex and spilling all her secrets would put her in very hot water. Betraying the only person for whom Luna still cared sent a bolt of pain through her chest, but at least those Purebloods would be locked up and unable to hurt Hermione. Because Draco Malfoy would hurt her, Luna was absolutely certain.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist." Luna interrupted the man's tirade with a sigh. "Wouldn't want to blow a blood vessel."

* * *

The Room of Requirement had been relocated to the Northeast Wing of the castle on the fifth floor, a place that had been closed off due to disuse, which is probably why she had forgotten about it so completely.

"You moved it?" It was the eighth or ninth time Blaise had asked Hermione that question. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept.

"I didn't move it. I asked the castle to move it." She explained again. "After the Battle of Hogwarts, the Room's existence was common knowledge. When we took the castle back it became a popular place for," she paused awkwardly. "Things that are unbecoming of a soldier."

"Gods forbid," Pansy muttered.

"So you moved it?" Blaise demanded incredulously.

"Salazar's salty balls," Theo groaned. "It's not that complicated when you consider that the very nature of the Room of Requirement is that it does what is required."

"How would you know?" Pansy sneered. "Out of all of us, only Hermione and Draco have ever been inside."

"I've been inside," Neville protested. "All of seventh year was spent in and out. Hiding from the Carrows." He shuddered.

"The castle was very understanding, once I made my demands clear," Hermione mentioned.

"Of course, it was," Blaise chuckled. "Hermione, my dear, you are a very nice girl, but sometimes you are fucking terrifying."

The wall was blank. It was across from an alcove that contained the dusty statue of a witch long dead. Hermione held a request in her mind and paced in front of the empty wall.

 _We need a safe place to meditate and complete the ritual dragon transformation that will allow room for several large beasts to move about comfortably_.

The request was, perhaps, a bit too specific, for it took quite a while for the door to appear in the wall. Or perhaps the Room knew that what they were attempting was tantamount to treason. She took a deep breath to calm the anxiety that squeezed her stomach. The excuses she had made for herself were flimsy to say the least. The Purebloods were watched less closely than when they first arrived, so they were able to disappear for hours at a time without anyone caring. The whole castle was in chaos, and she hoped they could all slip between the cracks for a few hours over the next three or four days.

When a portal finally did appear, it was made of two ironclad panels as tall as the ceiling and as wide as three carriages. Or as wide as a dragon, Hermione corrected herself.

"Interesting," Draco commented wryly.

Inside was an exact replica of the hilltop in Albania upon which she had first seen Draco turn into a dragon. The moment had defined Hermione's future in a way that she could hardly comprehend. Looking back, it was also the moment she allowed herself to fully trust a former enemy. She felt like the Room was teasing her.

"Cheeky," she mumbled under her breath.

The clearing was surrounded by tall pine trees on three sides. The fourth side was open to the valley below, and the mountains in the distance. It was truly amazing how a single magical space could so believably create a vast open wilderness. The grass was wet and vividly green under her feet. The cold wind picked up. Draco closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, a small smile on his lips.

"Go on, then," Hermione told him, nudging him with her shoulder.

He hesitated only a moment before he took off running at a full sprint. Midway across the hill, his limbs lengthened, his clothes faded into scales and he took to the sky.

"Show off!" Theo shouted.

Draco let out a jagged roar, bright orange flames erupting from between his teeth. Hermione could feel the heat on her skin even from her position on the ground. The great swoops of his wings sent gales across her face, flattening the curls on her head. He circled them a few times, canting left and right to ride the rising wind.

"We're going to start marking out the ritual space," Blaise told her. They were standing side by side, shading their eyes against the sun as they watched Draco. Theo was on the other side of the hill, pacing around and making notations in a notebook. "This Room of Requirement will keep all of our hard work in place when we leave, right?"

"Of course." Hermione was confident she could recreate this space exactly when they needed it again.

"By the way, I think that spot over there is for you," Blaise pointed behind her shoulder. There was a small, white gazebo partially hidden by the trees. Hermione squinted at it. It looked exactly like one she remembered in her grandmother's garden. The Room was being awfully free with Hermione's mind.

"Does Pansy have a spot?" Hermione wondered, feeling guilty that she hadn't thought to ask for a specific place in which the irritable woman could meditate.

"She won't need it," Blaise answered as he moved away.

And indeed, as Hermione watched, Pansy tugged Neville into the wooded area to the right of the clearing. She cringed slightly at the thought of what they might be doing in such a private space. The two of them had been quite - familiar - with each other after they both stumbled out of Pansy's room that morning. Hermione loved Neville and wanted him to find some happiness, but shacking up with Pansy Parkinson, even temporarily, seemed against his nature. Of course, committing treason by going against Kingsley's direct orders was a first for Hermione, so perhaps they were all branching out.

If Hermione was being honest, she deserved more of a censure than Neville when it came to forming inappropriate attachments. Draco had not brought up their spat the day before. It was probably for the best. He hadn't apologized for trying to intimidate her, and Hermione hadn't apologized for knocking him senseless. They simply continued on as if nothing had happened. If they held each other's gaze a moment longer than they had before, or if they allowed their hands to brush when they walked well, that was something neither of them was willing to look at too closely.

There wasn't really a good word for what was going on between her and Draco. It was something Hermione had no desire to define. She didn't have time for the kind of distraction he presented, but by the gods she wanted it. The feelings of desire and excitement he provoked in her were almost foreign for how long she had gone without feeling them.

As she watched Draco complete several barrel rolls in the sky above her head, Hermione reminded herself of her decision to let the future play out and not participate in her usual course of over-thinking and obsessive control. It was like swallowing a pill with no water.

Hermione laughed aloud and clapped in appreciation at his antics. Draco swooped low over her head and she reached up just in time to feel the strong wind of his passing on her fingertips. It was surreal to watching a dragon fly closely overhead and feel no fear. The dragon at Gringotts had been more concerned with his own freedom than making a meal of his passengers, but the fear had been ever-present. Knowing that a beast could reach around and eat you made admiring it's beauty rather difficult.

Bellatrix had made dragons synonymous with death and terror. A Hungarian Horntail was one of the most dangerous breeds of dragon, but a Horntail with the mind of a crazed and genocidal maniac was the stuff of nightmares. It wasn't long after her Animagus form had appeared on the battlefield that the Order went into hiding. Full, open battle no longer made sense when a single pass by a fire-breathing beast could decimate entire regiments.

Now, after so many years of horror, Hermione was free to enjoy Draco's display of acrobatics without fear for her life. He was clearly enjoying himself as well. His pearlescent wings kicked up clouds of dust and grass as he lowered himself slowly to the ground. Those great appendages settled against his back and he stalked toward her on all fours. He grunted and circled slowly before settling in front of her much like a house-sized dog. His large, shimmering scales were close enough for her to touch.

"May I?" she asked him.

He let loose a short whine and lowered his face. Stepping forward slowly, she held her hand out and open in front of her. A long snout snuffled around her fingers, making her giggle, then pushed into her palm. The skin on his face was cool and slick. She ran her fingers over his cheek, underneath his eye, then up over the black spikes on his head. They were firm, like horns. His grey eyes slid shut as her hand traveled down his long neck to his shoulder, where she felt the awe-inspiring muscles shift. The scaly skin twitched under her touch.

Merlin's beard, he was huge. Her head came to his shoulder as he lay on the ground. With his tail included, he was more than seven meters long. The skin along his shoulders was rough under her hand as she moved toward his side. He huffed a short breath through his nose. Was he ticklish? The idea made a smile stretch across her face.

He moved away with a groan, and she dropped her hand in disappointment only to watch him flop onto his side, his wings splayed across the grass and his belly to the sky. When she only stared at him with wide eyes, he lifted his head and blew air at her face impatiently. Hermione threw back her head and laughed. Draco lashed his tail against the ground.

"All right! All right!" Hermione chuckled, moving forward to rub the soft skin he had revealed to her. He hummed in his throat and let out a gusty sigh of pleasure. Hermione was absolutely certain his dragon consciousness was in control and Draco would be humiliated when he regained his human form.

"Aren't you adorable?" she cooed.

He lifted his head and snorted at her, glaring with one eye. Hermione laughed and continued to rub his scales. It was a strange twist of logic that a dragon should be more pleasant than a human, but there was no doubt that Hermione preferred Draco's beastly form. Perhaps it was because he could not speak, or raise that infernal eyebrow at her.

As she touched him, Hermione observed a long scar across his ribs, and stain of black scales on the inside of his front left leg. His position allowed Hermione to get a clear view of his underbelly, which shimmered in the sun. The pearly white that covered most of his body faded to a pale gold under his wings and then into pink as it reached the most sensitive areas of his belly and wing joints. He was beautiful.

"You look like a sunrise," she whispered, the sound choked.

A human Draco was standing in front of her suddenly, gripping her arms.

"Are you ill?" he demanded. "How long did you sleep last night? When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm fine," she answered thickly. "It's just so real."

His posture relaxed. "Yes, it is."

"The end is almost here." She looked up into his angular face, wondering if she should be embarrassed at her show of emotion. There was nothing but quiet patience reflected back at her. "I can't decide if I'm happy or terrified."

"If those are the only two emotions you can dredge up, Granger," he quipped as he tucked a curl behind her ear. "You're a bit stunted."

His eyes caught hers as she echoed Narcissa. "Emotions are terrible things."

A loud blast broke the mood. Hermione looked over to see Blaise and Theo covered in dirt, a large hole in the ground in front of them.

"I told you to make a line in the dirt, not blow it up!" Theo roared, picking sod from his ear.

"It was going just fine until you pinched my bum!" Blaise shouted.

"What was I supposed to do? If you wiggle it around in my face, I'm going to grab a bit."

"Wiggle it around?" The dark skinned man was scandalized. "I would never!"

They both started laughing uproariously and wrapped their arms around one another. Hermione chuckled at the sight.

"Fucking tossers," Draco muttered with a smile.

"Time for meditation," Hermione decided. She had taken a few steps when she noticed that Draco was following her closely. "Aren't you staying to help Theo and Blaise?"

"And miss the opportunity to mock you?" He sounded shocked.

"Just don't distract me," she relented wearily.

Draco grinned at her innocently.

The gazebo was tiny, just large enough to hold the both of them seated across from each other. Hermione uncorked the small vial of Fangjuice potion and downed it in one gulp. It was bitter and left a sting on her tongue. Hermione sat down, crossed her legs and struggled to remember all she had read about clearing her mind of superfluous thoughts. The wood beneath her was hard and chilly. A bee gamboled past her nose and she swatted at it. There was a tiny tickle at the base of her neck - and the inside of her elbow, and her shoulder. Blast!

"You're horrible at this," Draco observed idly.

Hermione glared at him. "What am I supposed be doing then?"

"I thought that was obvious." He raised one pale eyebrow at her.

"You're a prat." She sounded childish and she knew it, but it burned her up to admit that she wasn't able to accomplish something so simple.

"Meditating isn't that difficult if you aren't a know-it-all with compulsory need to control everything." He needed a good stinging hex to wipe the superior look from his face. "So much for all that research."

The word research was said with such sarcastic humor that Hermione felt her magical ire rise up with a vengeance. "Draco Malfoy, you are not helping!"

"Just relax, Granger."

"You know," she huffed. "You've said that to me more than once and it obviously doesn't work. Maybe you should try something else and be helpful for a change!"

The potion had turned warm in her belly.

"Fine!" He stood suddenly. "Budge up."

She glared at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"If I have to kick you out of the way I will," he threatened.

Later, Hermione would blame it on the potion. It was making her head spin in a way that was quite pleasant. The tips of her fingers were buzzing, and Hermione doubted she could find the tip of her nose if asked. In any normal circumstance, she told herself, she would have hexed him and continued with her attempt to find inner peace. Instead, she huffed in indignation and complied with his demand, only to go stock still when he dropped down behind her.

"What are you doing?" she repeated with a squeak.

"Trying something else," he muttered.

He wrapped his long fingers around her biceps and pulled her until her hips were tight between his legs. Hermione held herself as if frozen, unsure of what to do, but determined not to reveal her discomfort. The place where her bum was settled was very warm, and she could feel the strength in his legs on either side of her own. Where the sodding hell was she supposed to put her hands? She ended up holding them out in front of her as if warding something away.

"Is this supposed to help me relax?" she demanded. If she shuffled just a bit further, she would be fully pressed against his most private area. The thought made a coil tighten low in her belly.

"Close your eyes and lean back against me." He emphasized the demand by squeezing her arms. She felt it in her toes. "Trust me."

Those two words released the tension in her shoulders. He spoke them like a demand, but Hermione could hear the question underneath. With a long-suffering sigh, she allowed herself to relax into his chest. She could feel her body rise with every breath he took. He was putting off so much heat that a thin dew of sweat broke out on her forehead.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath.

"Do you want my help or not?" Draco demanded through clenched teeth. "This is how I learned, so this is how you'll learn."

"Someone taught you to meditate?"

"My mother taught me. It's a vital part of Occlumency, Granger. Or didn't you know that?"

Hermione did, in fact, know that learning Occlumency required a long process of building walls around one's mind through extensive meditation. That knowledge was apparently buried somewhere beneath the overwhelming sensations swarming her as she allowed her body to rest against Draco Malfoy's. The ingredients in Fangjuice were nothing like a lust potion, but she would bet that the hallucinogenic properties of the Blue-Spotted Mushrooms were enough to lower inhibitions. The sudden desire to run her hands up and down his thighs was evidence enough.

"Don't hex me," he muttered. He released her arms and put one hand against her belly, just below her sternum. It was comfortable, and yet completely unsettling. "It will help you focus your breathing," he told her before she could protest.

"I know how to breathe properly," she protested shrilly.

"Then do it, dammit!" he snapped.

With a grunt of frustration, Hermione focused all of her attention on the warm spot of pressure on her abdomen. She felt it rise and fall with her breath - rise and fall, rise and fall - then begin to slow as her concentration centered on the pleasant weight. The last of the potion took effect with a rush of heat across her cheeks, the tops of her ears and behind her knees. Suddenly, it was easy to let her full weight fall against the wizard at her back. The hollow of his collarbone was the perfect cradle for her head. The fabric of his trousers was smooth under her palm. She felt him shift a bit beneath her, the hand not on her belly coming to rest lightly on her hip.

The world narrowed to the sounds of the wind through the trees, the faint scent of Draco, and the sensation of her body against his. The desires of her flesh were fighting against the logic of her mind. She wanted to turn around and sit in his lap and taste his mouth again. She shoved the fantasy away ruthlessly. Even with the assistance of the potion and Draco's hand, the meditative state she required was slippery. She could feel and see it just out of reach, but couldn't quite tip over the edge. She needed something else.

"Could you. . ." Even in her partially euphoric state, she felt the sting of embarrassment.

"Could I . . .?" His words were soft in her ear.

"Could you talk to me like the night you read aloud?" Hermione blurted the request before she could stop herself. Draco went still behind her while humiliation burned up Hermione's neck. Her mouth opened again and she mumbled, "I like the sound of your voice."

 _Oh Merlin, keep your mouth shut, woman!_

"Yeah, I can do that."

Hermione relaxed into him again. "Tell me about being a dragon."

"The first thing you notice is your size," he began. "Your body occupies more space. It's heavy, yet powerful."

The rumble of his words drove out any other thoughts.

"Your muscles are in different places and there are more of them. Your hands and feet work in new ways, and you have two more appendages in the form of wings. Somehow it all works together."

Hermione was breathing deeply. She felt as if she was floating in a warm bath in the dark, the only real sensation was the sound of Draco's voice.

"The wind brings scents and vibrations, all of it rich with information."

Even his voice was fading into the distance. A new awareness came upon her slowly. Nothing had happened, and yet everything was different. She was on all fours, but she was taller at the same time. A strange, tugging weight on her shoulders made her shift around, feeling the muscles play. That weight folded and unfolded, catching the breeze on thin, scaly skin. She looked down and saw claws. Blue claws. She sank them in the soft dirt beneath her feet.

Hermione took a moment to catalog each feature as she experienced them. Long snout. Sharp teeth. Sleek body. As she arched her back, she felt closely fitted armor along her spine shift and rub together. Her tail moved slickly across the grass in a swiping motion. Her ears articulated to pinpoint minute sounds. The cool air filtered through her nostrils and flooded her with different scents. It was so odd, like being touched through the thinnest of fabrics. These sensations were clear and detailed, and yet the fact that it was all happening in her head meant she couldn't complete experience any of it.

Hermione huffed in irritation and craned her neck to get a better noseful of air. The motion made her wings widen for balance, and she noticed their span was wide, but their breadth was thin. Made for speed, she thought to herself as a bit of anatomy bubbled to the surface of her mind. She stretched one of them out and craned her long neck around to see. They were black underneath, the paper-thin skin dotted with tiny gold, silver, and purple scales. How pretty, she thought to herself.

There was something behind her. Hermione swung around, her wings catching the breeze and making her stumble. When she righted herself, she was looking into the large grey eyes of a white dragon. The wind changed and brought the faint scent of Draco. . . tea and warm, male skin and . . . honey?

Hermione sat upright with a gasp. The physical world spun back into place.

"Take it easy, Granger."

Draco's words centered her. She took a breath and felt his hand on her belly pull her tighter to him. It was easy to sink back into place against his chest.

"How long was I out?" Hermione shivered in the chill air then felt Draco chafe at her arms to warm her.

"It's been nearly an hour," he answered. "Should I cast a warming charm? We aren't really dressed for an Albanian summer."

"No, I'm okay," Hermione answered. "An hour? So long?"

"It took me days of intense meditation to even summon a glimpse of my alternate form," Draco admitted with a surly shrug. "You and Pansy are both making me look bad."

"Has Pansy succeeded then?"

"She stopped by a few minutes ago to. She wanted to make sure you knew she finished first."

Hermione shook her head in amusement, her short curls crackling against his shirt. "She's such a cow."

"What brought you back so suddenly?"

Hermione sat up again, all excitement. She turned so she was facing him, kneeling between his legs. He looked at her warily, unsure whether to be scared or enthusiastic.

"It was amazing!" she gushed. "I was a dragon!"

"That was rather the point."

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued. "I had claws and a tail, huge teeth and these long, black wings!"

"That does sound about right for a dragon," he deadpanned, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Though I suppose it's possible you could turn into a Fuzzy-Headed Humpdink. The suspense is killing me."

"You were there," she continued, ignoring his attempts to rile her.

Draco scrunched his eyebrows at her doubtfully.

"You were!" she argued. "The dragon you! It startled me awake."

"You were daydreaming about me, Granger?" His sly grin made her heartbeat pick up.

A wave of dizziness hit her and she teetered forward. "I could smell you," she mumbled against his shirt.

"Yes, that particular sense is quite the most annoying of the five." He took a deep breath and held it, as if unwilling to breathe with her so close.

"You smell nice." He didn't answer, but Hermione thought his heart started beating faster.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, popping back up as something occurred to her. "I should have breathed fire to be certain I was able. I did feel a bit of pressure in my throat, almost as if there was a switch there that could be activated somehow. I wouldn't be much use without that particular weapon. But every species of dragon is capable of fire if I remember correctly from my anatomy books. Except those classified as water serpents, I suppose - "

Draco stopped her flood of reasoning by taking possession of her mouth. The slow burn that had been building, while she had been conscious of their closeness, flared into a raging fire. Hermione moaned softly in the back of her throat. His hands were wrapped around her hips, and he yanked her forward so their bodies were flush. Hermione shifted a bit and managed to straddle his lap. It was perfection. Her hands came up to cup his neck, holding him in place so she could pull his tongue into her mouth.

A deep groan rumbled up from the depths of his chest. Hermione felt the need to move, to relieve some of the desperate, heated pressure centered between her legs. She thrust her hips slightly. The movement sent a bolt of sheer pleasure straight up her spine. Draco must have felt something similar, for he squeezed his eyes shut and muttered, "Fucking hell."

With a grin of sheer womanly power, Hermione undulated against him again, drowning in needy want. His grasp on her hips tightened and he started guiding her movements, urging her on as he sucked on her lower lip. The hard evidence of his desire was rubbing against her in just the right way. Even through her trousers, the friction was winding a coil of desire in her belly.

A thrust of his hips had her moaning. One long-fingered hand slid underneath her shirt to cup her breast lightly. She tilted her head back and jerked against him in delight. She wanted his mouth on her. She wanted both of them naked, and in a bed.

"This is a bad idea," she whispered as he mouthed her neck. "We aren't exactly in private."

"They can't see anything," he panted. "There's nobody here but us."

Hermione reached for the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his skin, but stopped short. This sudden and unexpected desire to strip off all her clothes and grind against him had her reeling even more than the Fangjuice. The lust wasn't new, she admitted to herself, but the willingness to consummate her desire in public was out of the ordinary for a normally modest Hermione. Was this a side effect of the potion, or a remnant of her increased senses? A fragment of a former conversation - or rather argument - with Draco floated to the surface. She ripped herself away from him.

"This is the Dragon," she gasped, horrified.

"What?" He was dazed, his lips puffy and his hair mussed. The collar of his shirt was unbuttoned.

"This is your Dragon!" she repeated, indicating the new space between them. "You just turned! You don't really want this!"

Draco shook his head as if to clear it. "That's - "

"The human part of you doesn't want me." Hermione scrambled away.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" The last of the fog had cleared from his expression. "Surely this," he gestured to his crotch, "Is enough evidence of my desire for you."

Hermione remembered the hardness pressing against her and tried to keep her eyes on his face. She ended up looking at the floor. "You don't _want_ to want me," she corrected. "No matter what your body says."

Draco sighed and opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by Theo and Blaise.

"Everything okay over here?" Theo called from a good distance.

"Fully clothed and everything?" Blaise added.

Hermione felt a rabid blush take hold of her face. She stood abruptly, steadying herself on the gazebo railing.

"We're fine," she answered. "My meditation is complete."

"Finally!" Hermione heard the distant call of Pansy.

She didn't wait to see Draco straighten himself, but instead stalked away, feeling a heavy weight in her chest.

The circle for the ritual was well on its way to being completed. There were still several runes to be inscribed on the ground, and the four directions needed to be consecrated. Hermione was quite ashamed of how little attention she paid to the work Theo and Blaise had done. She praised them without actually noticing any details. She stoutly ignored the grin Pansy threw her way, and would not, under any circumstances, reach up to feel her swollen lips, or her warm cheeks.

Hermione was the last out the door. If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed that Draco had stopped just outside. As it was, she ran into his back and fell back a step. When she tried to step around him, she was stopped by his protective arm. Hermione saw that everyone had their hands outstretched in surrender. Ron, Amos, and Collins stood just beyond them with wands drawn.

"What is going on here?" Hermione demanded.

Ron took a deep, regretful breath and shook his head. "You're under arrest."

* * *

 _A/N: Have a great week, guys!_


	15. To Admit a Mistake

_A/N: The general outrage over that cliffy made my dark, Slytherin heart very happy. I love you guys! Thanks for all the lovely reviews and a big fat welcome to newcomers!_

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: To Admit a Mistake

 _Lestrange Mansion_

 _April 2001_

 _The Mansion was nearly empty. Hermione assumed whatever problem the Legion had encountered was what had called Rodolphos away so suddenly, and what kept the soldiers away even now. Since her encounter with Narcissa Malfoy two days past, she had spent her time sleeping and pacing her cell. She felt like something was coming, and not only because of the blonde woman's cryptic warning, but because she could feel it in her bones._

 _It was some hours after her evening meal when Hermione heard shouting and the distant blast of magic. Leaping from her cot, she stood ready in the middle of the small room - ready to fight, ready to die, ready to do anything but allow herself to remain a prisoner._

 _The door flew open and revealed the best, most beloved face._

" _Hermione!" Ron cried._

 _She was in his arms before he could take another step. He was shaking as he held her tight, crying into her hair. "You're alive. You're alive. You're alive."_

 _It didn't feel right. She didn't feel safe or comforted or clean. In all the fantasies of rescue she had allowed herself over the past months, the feelings were always the same. Ron had always been shelter and love, but now his embrace felt slimy. She probably just needed a bath._

" _Get me out of here, please."_

 _Luna's cell was empty. In between enemy wand fire and hiding around corners, Hermione tried to describe what she knew of the Mansion and where Luna was being kept. Ron assured her that Luna would be rescued, but Hermione still had to swallow a great lump of dread as they left the residence wing behind. After several minutes, they met Harry on the way to the roof. He didn't speak to Hermione directly but quickly kissed her on the forehead in greeting. That too felt a bit wrong._

" _What took you so long?" Ron demanded._

" _Ran into the Carrows," Harry answered._

" _Luna?" Hermione asked desperately._

" _She's safe."_

 _The door to the roof was tiny. It was made of thick wooden beams held together by aged brass nails. Hermione took a moment to marvel at the innocuousness of such an important portal. When it opened, she sucked in a great lungful of air as she stared up at the stars. Had the sky always been so far away? She guessed her days in prison numbered near three months, but it had felt like years._

 _Luna stood stiffly and separate from her rescuers. Hermione ran to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She could feel how the other woman struggled not to flinch away. It had been too long since either of them had been touched by a friend._

" _You weren't in your cell," Hermione babbled. "I was so worried."_

" _Harry found me," Luna answered, her voice cold and distant._

 _Harry avoided her gaze as he mounted his broom. Hermione could only imagine what Harry had witnessed in Alecto's rooms. Despite the wall of ice Luna had erected around herself, she looked whole and hale. It was enough for now._

" _We need to go!" Dawlish snapped._

" _Ready to go home, 'Mione?" Ginny's embrace less off-putting, but still awkward._

 _Settling behind Ginny, Hermione tamped down the sudden rush of panic she felt at the question. Home? The concept was hazy. Could she go back? How could she be the person she had been before? It wouldn't take long for her friends to perceive the stain on her soul. They would know the things she had done._

" _Let's go," she answered._

* * *

Dolores Umbridge hosted a party for her own birthday every year on the thirtieth of August. The evening fete was in full swing when George Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Lee Jordan slipped across the property wards. The magical protections were weak. George assumed Umbridge had lowered their sensitivity to allow her partygoers to move freely about. Or perhaps the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic had no fear of attack. George decided her guests were going to be quite put out by her lapse in judgement. Those who survived anyway.

A well-crafted disillusionment charm was enough to keep them hidden as they sprinted silently from shadow to shadow. Gods, he had missed this. Special strike teams were his niche, as he was good at sneaking around and thinking on his feet. It reminded him of his time at Hogwarts with Fred. When he was on a mission and the sweet adrenaline was pumping through his veins, he was clear-headed and had no need of potions or alcohol to keep his dark thoughts at bay.

 _Nothing can keep me away_ , Fred's voice penetrated his focus. _You wouldn't want me to leave you anyway, would you Gred?_

 _Never, Forge._

George took his position outside the ballroom. Kneeling down carefully, he tucked his prize inside a potted palm, doing his best not to ruffle the fronds. A very well-dressed couple passed his hiding spot, giggling to each other. George pressed himself against the wall and tried to breathe silently. He put two fingers to the silver band across his wrist, imbued with a Protean charm that would buzz when the other two wizards were in place.

He could hear tasteful music and the churning hum of voices. George listened to the tinkle of glass and utensils with nostalgia. He had never been one to attend fancy parties, but he remembered the Yule Ball during his sixth year, and several family holidays during which Mum had pulled out the crystal and silver. It brought to mind warmth and a full belly, and the high trill of his mother's laughter. So much loss.

Out of the corner of his eye, George saw a flash of orange. Whipping his head around, he witnessed a head of bright hair and freckled, gangly arms disappear around the corner.

 _Peek-a-boo, Georgie_.

His heart was racing. It was just a hallucination. Just in his head. Fumbling in his coat pocket, George brought out the flask of hooch he had stashed there before he left Hogwarts. He drained it quickly before replacing his fingers on the silver bracelet. What the bloody hell was taking the others so long?

A tall woman paused near his hiding place, lighting a cigarette. She sniffed, then frowned, leaned forward and continued to scent the air as if searching for something. George belatedly realized as he let loose a small burp that she could probably smell the alcohol he had just consumed. He shrank back against the wall as far as he was able. The woman scrunched up her nose and reached for the delicate wand holster draped across her waist.

"Gwenna!" The woman whipped away at the sound of her name. "Alfred is looking for you, get back in here!"

With a long-suffering sigh, the woman stalked back into the ballroom, and George allowed himself to slide down the wall in relief. He desperately wished he'd taken a dose of his Calming Draught before leaving Hogwarts.

 _That was close_.

Close indeed.

It took another lifetime of seconds before his silver band tickled his wrist with the long awaited alert. His head was swimming nicely by then, and he chuckled at the sensation. It took a moment for his tingling fingers to find the wand tucked in his invisible jacket. The spell took a moment longer, and then he was tip-toeing back through the halls.

They met on a tall hill some two miles from the house.

"How long?" Lee asked, shifting from one foot to another.

George shrugged. He had forgotten to set a countdown. "A minute or two."

It took just about five minutes. George was getting worried that one of them had set the spell incorrectly when the walls of the house exploded. A great tongue of fire leapt toward the sky as the dirt shook and rumbled loudly with the blast. Setting a delayed spell on his Eggbombs was the perfect way to cause a bit of mayhem.

"Bloody hell," Seamus whispered.

"Big boom," George confirmed before taking a sip from his flask.

This would buy them at least a few more days.

 _Well done, brother mine,_ Fred applauded.

 _Thank you, Fred._

* * *

The decision to report Hermione's activity had not come easily. Luna's confession had astounded Ron. He had not been convinced of Luna's claim that the Purebloods had discovered a way to win the war. Luna had been vague, but what she told him had still been hard to swallow. Harder still to believe that four former Slytherins and their mothers could have invented such magic. If it was true, then Ron had no choice but to bring it to Kingsley. No matter what Hermione believed, these people were strangers. There was no sense in giving them the ability to wipe out entire regiments with a sneeze.

The first time Ron had felt uneasy about talking to Kingsley was when he saw the thunderous look on the man's dark face. Ron had assumed he would feel the same concern for Hermione's safety, but instead, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix had been incensed by what he considered a betrayal. Hermione's actions were foolhardy, to be sure, and possibly mutinous, but were in no way directed at the Minister of Magic. If anyone had a right to be personally offended, it was Ron, but Kingsley seemed to display a level of anger that went beyond insubordination.

The second time Ron had experienced a twinge of unease was when Kingsley enlisted the help of Amos and Smith to break into Hermione's private quarters. They failed miserably, but managed to find plenty of damning evidence within the rooms of the Purebloods and inside a pieced-together Potions lab. Smith returned with bleeding ears and a broken rib, complaining loudly that Hermione wouldn't have such impenetrable wards if she had nothing to hide. Ron had knocked out his front tooth. Ron had done enough harm to Hermione's reputation without a fat flobberworm like Smith adding insults.

His anxiety only grew when Ron realized the magnitude of what Hermione was trying to accomplish. The contents of the Purebloods' notebook was far beyond his understanding, but Ron had understood enough to realize that the magic was revolutionary. The contents, even though they made Ron's head spin with confusion, had made him wonder why Kingsley had not jumped at the chance to perform such magic. He understood a desire to keep such power out of the hands of six possible enemies, but it would have been easy to commandeer the project and put Order soldiers in place of the Purebloods.

Ron accepted that he had made a mistake when he had to place magical incarcerous bonds around Hermione's wrists. The act brought back the memory of the bruises she had once borne there, and the white scars that still marred her skin. He mumbled an apology while she stubbornly avoided meeting his eyes. The walk to the dungeons seemed longer than ever before. Everyone was silent but for Amos, who insisted on muttering under his breath about traitors and Legionnaires and snakes.

The five prisoners were herded one by one into separate cells. Hermione stood as far away from Ron as possible and waited for her turn.

"Luna told you."

It wasn't a question, and so he felt no need to answer. A heavy weight settled in his belly. This feeling of overwhelming remorse was probably why he looked the other way when Malfoy approached Hermione in the narrow hall outside their separate cells. As the others were placed in their prison cells and their bonds released, Malfoy and Hermione stood close and whispered to each other.

Hermione was distraught despite her frosty exterior. Ron had learned to read her quite well over the years. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she pressed her elbows into her sides, how she stood on her toes, leaning forward ever so slightly as if ready to run at any moment. The calm facade she presented to the world had evolved through the early years of the war, and been perfected after her time in captivity. But Ron could see it. He also felt the wild magic radiating from her, making the hair on his arms and neck stand on end.

They were talking intensely in low tones. Instead of putting distance between himself and the buzzing power pouring out of the witch, Malfoy stepped closer. Ron would have put money on the impossibility, but as he watched, the man calmed her with his words. Only Luna could do that. Hermione stood as if frozen, looking into his eyes, their faces close enough for their noses to touch, and nodded slowly as he spoke to her. She took a shuddering breath and her body relaxed, settling back on her heels.

The magical energy pressing on his skin faded away and Ron finally understood the scope of his mistakes. He was about to put Hermione in prison. The very idea was repulsive. She wasn't in the hands of the enemy, she would not be tortured or raped, but she was going to be locked in a cage all the same. No amount of reasoning was going to keep Hermione from being traumatized, or keep Ron from hating himself.

Ron saw Malfoy's jaw tick as he released Hermione into Smith's hands. Hermione disappeared into her cell and Ron felt the heavy weight of Malfoy's accusing stare. He had no excuses for his behavior, other than the fact that he had wanted to keep Hermione safe. It was the one goal which had driven his life for more than a decade. That particular job no longer belonged to him, it would seem. Ron swallowed thickly and settled in to wait.

* * *

It took hours for Kingsley to summon her. Hours she had to spend in a dark, stone box, constantly reminding herself that she was at Hogwarts, not back in the home of the Lestrange's. Draco had broken her cycle of anxiety by sternly ordering her to keep her head on straight, to remember to breathe properly, and to keep herself from bringing the dungeons down around their ears. They were, after all, in the same prison, and it would be very impolite to kill everyone else as well as herself.

There had been something soft in his grey eyes as he spoke that took the sharp edge off his words. His voice had been steady, with not a trace of anxiety. Hermione had latched onto his gaze as if it could imbue her with his confidence. She desperately needed it. The future she had allowed herself to envision was slipping through her fingers like grains of sand and panic was taking its place. But Draco wasn't worried. He reminded her that Kingsley may be a giant prat, but he wasn't stupid. She just had to keep her wits about her.

As she sat across from Kingsley, she drew up the memory of that steadying encounter, and found herself unaccountably comforted. It was almost tangible, as if Draco had reached out and caressed her with a gentle hand. It balanced her enough to be able to calmly face the accusations her leader was throwing at her with fervor.

"I brought this to you as soon as I found out, if you remember." Hermione said.

"You failed to tell me that the magic had been proven!" Shacklebolt argued.

"I did my best to convince you, but your mind seemed made up." She was doing her best to sound reasonable. "I couldn't allow you to lock up the only people capable of recreating the magic because you were afraid of their power."

"You assume too much, Granger." Shacklebolt's dark face had turned to stone.

"I assumed correctly!" she returned. "Or have my assumptions not been realized this very afternoon with this ridiculous display?"

"You will remember to whom you speak!" he thundered.

Hermione turned her head away and took a deep breath. "I have never been more aware of your position."

"Excellent." The Minister of Magic was suddenly serene. The lightning quick change in temperament made Hermione nervous. "Then we may proceed under better terms."

Hermione withdrew her hands from the table, clenching them together out of sight. She had to bite her cheek to keep herself from retorting with words that might put her at a disadvantage.

"I wonder if you might solve a few riddles for me." Shacklebolt leaned back with an air of nonchalance. Spreading it on a bit thick, in Hermione's opinion. Well, two could play at that game.

"Yes, Minister, how can I help?"

Shacklebolt smiled a greasy smile and summoned a box from the corner of the room. It settled gently in front of him on the table, at which point he unpacked its contents one at a time. Hermione thought she recognized a quill, or perhaps that stack of parchment? Then her stomach dropped when a familiar, black research notebook was revealed, followed by four of the six glass vials of Fangjuice Mrs. Parkinson had completed just the day before. Hermione hoped she was keeping her face impassive as she felt panic crawl up her throat.

"You broke into my quarters?" she asked quietly.

"Your rooms were quite impenetrable. You should have laid the same protections upon your secret Potions lab."

The glass vials shuddered as the table shook.

Shacklebolt seemed unperturbed by the magical display as he idly flipped through the notebook. "Who did the Arithmantic calculations?"

"Zabini," she answered shortly.

"It seems his friends feature greatly in his list of candidates. Let us hope his conclusions are unbiased."

"Why would he lie?" she asked incredulously. "The ritual is deadly in the wrong hands. It makes no sense for him to endanger the lives of his loved ones needlessly."

"There is no telling the lengths to which some people will go to gain power." Shacklebolt fingered one of the vials.

"That is ridiculous!" Hermione burst out. "What good is power if you've joined the losing side in a decades-long war? If power was their goal, they were better off staying with the Legion."

"We are not losing," he ground out, his brow furrowing.

She was pushing too hard, Hermione could see it in the way he clenched his teeth. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. The tension was broken when Harry burst through the door.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt groused. "So nice of you to join us."

Harry was gasping. He leaned against the table, his cane propping up his other side while he caught his breath. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his face and neck, Hermione noticed. She hoped he had not overtaxed himself. He hobbled over to her seat and transfigured his cane into another chair before plopping down beside her. His good hand came to rest on her arm under the table like an anchor in a storm.

"So nice to have been invited, Minister," he quipped sarcastically.

"What I meant to say before," Hermione amended before Harry could continue. "Was that bringing this kind of magic to us would make little sense when Bellatrix could have made them rich and famous."

Shacklebolt harrumphed. "Perhaps."

"I'm not saying their motives were completely altruistic. They certainly have their own agendas, but they are not the enemy. In fact, if anyone deserves to be punished, it's me."

Harry clamped down on her shoulder, urging her to be quiet.

Hermione knew she was throwing herself on her own sword. She hoped it would be enough to keep Draco and the others from being too severely punished. The Minister had been shown up by a subordinate, and it wasn't the first time Hermione had done so. There was no doubt that Shacklebolt was aware of the widespread loyalty she commanded. The highly logical and detached part of her mind knew that she could take the Minister's should she put forth the effort. It was her deeply rooted sense of fairness and her own self-doubt that kept her from seizing power.

"Despite my better judgement, I will allow this project to continue. The benefits obviously outweigh the risks. We will simply need to keep a closer eye on Mr. Malfoy and his friends."

Hermione relaxed, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, sir."

"I see the names of Cho Chang, George Weasley and Luna Lovegood on this list. Lovegood's name was even magically removed. Why were they not included in your undertaking?"

"They were judged to be unsuitable," Hermione explained. "The calculations did not include variables of a more personal nature since Zabini was not familiar with the subjects."

He sighed and laced his hands together before speaking. "I have decided otherwise. Lovegood and Weasley will be included immediately."

Hermione blinked into the silence while Harry stiffened beside her. The sour feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified.

"That is unwise." Her voice was becoming strained once more.

"Chang presents obvious problems, but I see no reason why Weasley and Lovegood should not be allowed to participate."

She lost her composure then, standing up and slamming her fist on the table. A wind picked up, ruffling her curls. "George is a drunk and a drug addict, he won't make it through the ritual! And Luna. . ." she laughed incredulously. "You can't possibly think that giving Luna the ability to kill indiscriminately is a good idea?"

"Weasley is more than capable. And Lovegood's nature makes her a valuable weapon, so long as she is killing the right people," Shacklebolt said coldly.

Harry tugged her back into a seated position, still trying to catch his breath.

"Even if they were viable candidates," Hermione argued. "We don't have time to prepare them properly. We have days at most."

"We will do our best with what we are given," Shacklebolt replied cryptically.

"Please sir, don't do this," Harry pleaded. "Three against one is more than enough."

Hermione nodded. "We don't need to risk more lives to be successful."

"I don't agree. From my understanding, our dragons are more vulnerable than Bellatrix in her Animagus form. Five against one will ensure our success completely." Shacklebolt held up a hand to forestall her argument. "In any case, Granger, you need not concern yourself."

Hermione felt the color left her face. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can't allow you to continue in this project." Shacklebolt gave her a smile devoid of warmth. "You committed treason when you disobeyed my direct order. You also stole potion and healing supplies, lied about your activities, and left Hogwarts grounds without permission. I also assume you went into centaur territory in order to collect the Fireflower pollen, which is strictly forbidden."

"I did all those things," she admitted.

"But no harm came from her actions," Harry protested breathlessly.

Kingsley sighed. "Ms. Granger, you are reckless and insubordinate. It would be well within my power to lock you up for the duration."

Hermione folded her arms and glared at him. He wouldn't dare.

Harry blinked. "You won't do that."

"Won't I?" Shacklebolt cocked his head inquiringly. "You and Harry both believe you are too valuable, that I will overlook your constant lack of respect for my authority because I simply can't do without you."

Hermione was breathing hard, her nostrils flared and her jaw rigid with the strain of keeping her mouth shut. She clutched the edge of the table as she felt static dance up her arms. Harry seemed unaware of the charged magic, but Shacklebolt snatched his hands away with a grunt of pain and then rubbed his fingers together as if they were covered in something oily.

"The magnitude of your power is unarguable, but your magic is unreliable. You are not as irreplaceable as you think." Shacklebolt sighed. "Sometimes I lament my position as a politician. We are slaves to public opinion, and you are widely loved. But make no mistake, Granger, if you continue to interfere, I will exercise my power to remove you."

The threat was perfectly clear. There was more than one way to dispose of an enemy and make it look like an accident. Struggling to control herself, Hermione noticed that Harry was still sucking in lungfuls of air as if he'd been running.

"You would have a mutiny on your hands," he gasped.

"Perhaps," Kingsley stood up. "In any case, Granger, you are no longer a part of this project. I will be taking your place within the ranks of our dragon soldiers."

Taking her place? So the man thought he was qualified to attempt the transformation in her stead? It was a genius move on his part. It was also arrogant, self-serving, and dangerous and it made her vision go red.

"Kingsley, that - " Harry stopped speaking abruptly, his sweat soaked face going white as a sheet.

"Harry?" Hermione took hold of his arm just before he slid out of his chair. She stopped his fall as best she could, but he started convulsing and leapt out of her grasp, smacking his head on the floor.

"Get Madame Pomfrey!" Hermione screamed. "Or give me back my wand!"

Harry had bitten his tongue and blood was running from the corner of his mouth. Hermione turned him on his side and did her best to keep him still. His spine bowed and he groaned through his clenched teeth, gurgling through blood and saliva.

"Don't you dare leave us," she sobbed. "Not yet."

Kingsley was beside her. "Pomfrey is on her way."

The man cast a spell that lessened Harry's seizures as Hermione examined her friend carefully. His eyes were sunken in his head, his skin was waxy and pale. She should have been paying more attention. Had he been showing signs of his worsening condition? Had the curse finally destroyed the last of his life force? The weight of her sorrow made her bend over his still-twitching form.

"Please, hold on," she whispered in his ear.

* * *

Draco had felt trapped before. In fact, he considered his entire life to be one giant rabbit snare, and he the prey. It had been some time, however, since he had felt this precise kind of helplessness. He had been fifteen and had listened to his mother scream while under the _cruciatus_ , tortured for her husband's failure to kill the Boy Who Lived in the Department of Mysteries. At the time, Draco had transferred that deep fear into a hatred of Harry Potter.

It was the kind powerlessness that was rooted in guilt. His mother had been roped into a life of servitude by her fanatical husband, and later, by her power-hungry son. She had paid dearly for the choices of the men in her life. Now he was responsible for the downfall of a woman who had put her trust in him, her hope for the future. He wanted to turn this castle to rubble. He wanted to fly away with her and keep her safe with his claws and teeth and breath.

He wished for four legs so he could pace properly. As it was, he stalked the length of the stone wall separating him from Hermione's cell and counted his strides. Three forward. Three back. The Dragon was equally restless, clawing at the back of Draco's mind with suggestions on how to revenge himself on his captors. Poison had always been a favorite with the Malfoys, but the Dragon demanded something more direct.

Was it possible that just hours before he had been basking in the light of her enthusiasm? He had licked into her mouth as if he could lap it up with his tongue. He had feigned ignorance and then done his best to distract her when Hermione had surfaced from her meditative state and spoken of seeing his dragon form. The truth was far more unsettling.

As her breath had evened out, and her body had fell limp against his, he had unconsciously matched his breathing to hers. It had taken only a few moments to fall into a self-induced hypnosis with her. What followed was impossible to explain. One did not share one's subconscious with another, and yet, when he had opened his dragon eyes he had beheld the beautiful, shining creature that was her alternate form.

 _Mate_ , the Dragon had snarled with delight. _Claim her_.

And he had been about to do just that when she had spotted him. The shock of seeing his dragon form must have pulled her out of her relaxed state, for they had both been yanked back to reality. Draco had been shaken to the core. Even now, if he closed his eyes and grounded himself, he could feel the tiny, vibrating thread of her anxiety. He allowed himself a small moment of fantasy, in which he would be able to comfort her. He might touch her shoulders and feel them relax under his hand.

The door to Draco's prison cell opened, ending his reverie, and Ron Weasley stepped inside. He looked miserable. Strangely enough, the man inspired little animosity. If Hermione came to any harm, the red-headed weasel would have to live with the guilt. They both would.

"Is she okay?" Draco asked him.

"She's been returned to her room," the man replied. "She has not been prosecuted for treason, but she's been forbidden from completing her transformation."

"What a bloody fucking waste," Draco snarled. "Am I to be culled for the greater good then?"

"No," Weasley laughed humorlessly. "Kingsley would never allow an asset like you to slip from his fingers. He's going to ride you like Firebolt."

"Lovely."

Weasley then filled Draco in on all that he knew. Draco decided he could happily wrap his hands around Shacklebolt's neck and watch the light leave his eyes. Or perhaps he would simply pour something special in his tea.

"And how did Granger take all of this information?" Draco was certain she was at this moment crumbling Hogwarts's centuries old, stone foundation with her mind.

"She was disappointed and angry."

And understatement, surely.

"Also," the man swallowed and looked away, but not before Draco saw his eyes glaze with tears. "Harry had a fit. He's in the hospital wing. Pomfrey doesn't think he'll walk again."

They were so close to the end. Why did it feel like the whole thing was falling apart? Draco tucked his misery away and tried to focus.

"Where is my mother?" he demanded.

The Weasel shifted his shoulders uneasily. "Both Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Parkinson are being held at the home of Andromeda Tonks until their complicity is determined."

"They were to leave in the morning," Draco reminded him. "Why couldn't you just let them go?"

"It wasn't my call."

Draco looked Weasley in the eye long enough to communicate his disgust. It took but a moment for the other man to glance away.

"Am I free to go then?" He needed to get to Hermione, to see her with his own eyes. "And my friends as well?"

"That's right. But you'll be watched closely, and expected to help with whatever needs to be done with the dragon thing."

 _Dragon thing?_ Draco almost rolled his eyes. How could a man so stupid have so much power?

He was passing Weasley on the way out of his cell when Weasley stopped him. Draco's wand appeared out of the man's back pocket. Draco snatched it away quickly, repulsed by Weasley's carelessness. He was lucky the thing wasn't broken.

"I was wrong about all of this," Weasley said. "And I've been a right arsehole. I'm sorry."

There was no proper word to describe Draco's feeling at Weasley's words. Astonishment? Incredulity? Nothing could quite encompass the depth of it. Draco had a vivid imagination and had often pictured what it might be like to have any one of his enemies beg for forgiveness, but never in his wildest fantasies could he have created such a scenario as this. It took a very brave man to so blatantly admit his mistakes. Draco felt a very small measure of respect for the redhead as he took his hand in a firm grasp. Bloody Fucking Gryffindors.

"Thank you," Draco responded, feeling inadequate in the face of all that sincerity.

"Now that we're best friends," Weasley quipped. "I have an idea I want to run past you."

* * *

Hermione was angry with Luna. They were arguing in Hermione's room in the old dungeons and Luna could feel all the rock and damp earth pressing against her skin like a grave. _Grave, ghouls, gods-forsaken._ She hated being inside. Hermione was in a state, her magic rippling up and down her arms in shimmering waves, and sparking off the tips of her curls as she slumped against her lakeview window.

Luna had been certain she would understand, and was confused by her refusal to listen to reason. Harry's sudden downward turn had broken something in Hermione and had added to the stress of her brief incarceration and subsequent punishment. Hermione had decided that Luna had betrayed her on a very deep level, and Luna was having a hard time changing her mind.

"They can't be trusted!" Luna tried again.

"Oh, will you please stop?" Hermione pleaded wearily. "You sound like Ron!"

Luna sighed. "I heard they removed you from the project. I'm sorry for that, at least. Kingsley is afraid of what you'll do with that kind of power."

"Oh, who gives a shit about the power?" Hermione cried. "Harry's getting worse and I'm worried about George! If he doesn't sober up he'll most certainly get himself killed."

"You aren't worried about me?"

Hermione didn't answer for a moment, but stared at Luna with penetrating eyes. "I know you'll survive."

She said it curtly and did not elaborate. The unspoken words were what hurt the most. Hermione and Luna had danced around the truth of Luna's nature, and Hermione had been more than willing to overlook the bits of darkness that periodically seeped to the surface. "Your reluctance is understandable. You know me better than anyone."

Hermione started pacing. "I never thought you, of all people, would betray my trust."

"It was for your own good." Luna was tired of repeating herself. "I did it because I love you and I want you safe."

"You don't get to decide that!"

"The way you decided to remove my name from that list?"

She didn't deny it. Instead, she leaned against the window and closed her eyes in defeat. "Everything is such a mess. I hope you make the right choice."

As if there was any choice at all. "Make no mistake, I will take the power Kingsley is offering, a power you should never have kept from me, and I will use it as I see fit."

"You've become so cold hearted, Luna." Hermione was staring into the black lake pensively. "I thought we were saved that day on the rooftop. But I feel like we've never really left."

Luna laughed. "Saved? I can't be saved! The sweet, naive girl who held your hand through that hole in the wall is gone."

"I know." Big brown eyes looked over at Luna with such sadness and regret. It made Luna irrationally angry.

"I didn't need to be rescued then, and I don't need your pity now. The dungeons of Lestrange Mansion were like a forge, and Alecto was the blacksmith. She took me, formless and weak, and remade me into a weapon. Something neither you nor anyone else in this gods-forsaken rubbish heap can understand."

"You're right," Hermione whispered. "I don't understand any of that. What am I missing?"

"Everything! Nothing at all." Luna searched for the words, even knowing that the syllables when they were spoken, would mean the end of their friendship. "There is such beauty in the blood drawn from a human when it is done with precision and intention. It is an art. I was an artist and she was my Master."

"You don't mean that." Her face was a mask of horror and disgust. "That woman forced you to do those things."

"She never forced me to do anything. That was the artistry of her torture." Hermione was looking at her with wide, repulsed eyes. Luna gasped a shallow breath and spat out, "You can't possibly understand! Rodolphos took you after only a week. You were lucky to be under his protection. She found me bleeding in my cell after weeks of rape and torture. I was no longer able to even cry. I was no longer even human. I was _worthless_ , _weak, wretched."_

Hermione flinched.

"She asked me if I wanted to learn from her. She saw something in me!" Luna was feverishly spilling out her heart, even though Hermione was recoiling and shaking her head in denial. "I resisted at first, but it didn't take long before I craved the power. And I wanted to make her happy, to see the gleam of approval in her eyes when I had reduced a prisoner to a gibbering pile of flesh. I wanted all of it." She paused and ready the final blow. "I miss it still."

"That's not true!" A wind picked up inside the room and Hermione's hair stood on end.

"You know it is! You've been comfortable turning a blind eye, but you know what I truly am."

"I can't!" Hermione collapsed to the ground, hands over her ears. Bright white flames were sparking from her hair and veining down her arms. "I can't listen to this."

Luna erected a magical shield around herself as the lightning bolts of power started lashing through the room. If there was one thing she mourned from her previous life, it was the ability to feel remorse for what she had done to Hermione and all the different ways in which she had failed her friend. As it was, Luna clucked her tongue in disappointment at the woman curled into a ball on the floor and then left the room. She had meditations to complete.

* * *

 _A/N: Much love!_


	16. To Come to an Understanding

_A/N: I've recently been promoted at work which means more hours away from my computer, so these updates are going to be spaced out a bit from now on. I'll do my best to keep them regular, but if you don't hear from me for a few weeks at a time, don't worry!_

 _I have the most dedicated reviewers ever. Seriously, you guys make the world a better place. Thank you so much for leaving your thoughts and ideas!_

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: To Come to an Understanding

 _Malfoy Manor_

 _December 2001_

" _I've been healed!"_

 _The exultant man was a former Snatcher who, up until that very morning, had been unable to walk. He had been hit with a curse by Hermione Granger as he and his cronies attempted to capture her. They had succeeded in the end, but only after a vicious fight. They had all suffered minor injuries, but this man had been unfortunate enough to have his spine severed. Draco didn't know much about Granger's time at HQ, but the three men who had bagged the Brightest Witch of Her Age had made the unfortunate mistake of bragging about it within Draco's hearing._

" _It's a gift from the Gods!" The man was now skipping, his creased face split by a grin._

 _The two other men involved in Granger's capture were no longer alive. One had bled out when a captive he was attempting to rape had removed his cock with her teeth. The other had been killed when he drunkenly fell out of a second-story window. The first death had been luck, the second had been a carefully planned assassination. There was only one Snatcher remaining upon whom Draco still needed to exact his revenge. It was the Snatcher who had delighted in telling the story of how cruelly he had beaten and raped the Chosen One's best friend._

 _It had been just the night before when Draco had slipped the poison into the man's drink. The pub had been filled to capacity. Draco had sat in the back corner and watched the sorry excuse for a wizard carouse with his friends, cry into his cups, and then float away in his enchanted chair. Now he was dancing a jig in the entryway of Legion Headquarters, come to demand his job back now that he was able to walk again._

 _It wasn't long before the man realized that he was not being healed, but was, in fact, being murdered. He lost feeling in his legs once again as he slumped to the floor. His breath shortened, and a sharp ache gripped his chest. The look of sheer panic and confusion on the man's face was pleasing_ _._

 _It was that false hope that made the poison so incredibly gratifying when used against an enemy. That sweet, sweet sensation of being fully avenged was why Draco had chosen it. The man choked on his last gulp of air before going limp, his blank eyes staring at the ceiling in entreaty._

 _Draco turned on his heel and sauntered away from the gathering crowd, singing under his breath._

" _How lovely would it be_

 _If hand in hand, you and me,_

 _Might savor our last, sweet breath,_

 _As we Dance, as we Dance_

 _As we Dance to our Death?_ "

* * *

After a swift round of questioning by Dawlish, Draco was released. It was obvious they had gotten all they needed from Granger, and that this whole ridiculous display of strength had been aimed at her alone. Draco had been warned that he would be watched closely and that he was expected to assist in the transformative rituals of Kingsley, Lovegood and George Weasley as well as Pansy.

If Draco had not already been aware of the changes to his plans, he would have been incensed. As it was, he merely nodded, comforted in the knowledge that he would get what he wanted no matter what.

It was nearly two in the morning when he and Weasley made their way back to the old dungeon quarters. The castle was almost deserted but for a few sentries walking the halls. The two men were met by a familiar group huddled in the hall outside Granger's rooms.

"She's warded herself inside," Neville explained. "I think she's upset about Harry."

"And Luna Lovegood left not long ago," Narcissa mentioned.

"We felt magic spinning around like mad and went to check on her," Pansy said indicating Neville and herself.

"Now she's put up incredibly powerful protection magic." Theo was studying the door as if it were a puzzle.

"Again." Pansy crossed her arms. "What if she's trapped under a mountain of books? What if she's been punctured by a flying fire iron?"

The Dragon lashed his tail and provided Draco a sudden vision of her lying bloody on the floor. The sensible side of Draco realized that such a scenario was unlikely, but he couldn't be sure unless he could get inside the damned room. Until that time, he needed Pansy to work a bit of magic.

"I need to see inside," Draco told her.

She knew exactly what he wanted.

"I left my wand in my room," she argued.

Draco merely stared at her expectantly. With a huff of indignation, she waved her hand in front of the wall as if wiping something away. The thick stones shimmered like a mirage and then disappeared.

"Bloody hell," Weasley squeaked.

"You should see what she can do with a wand," Neville said proudly.

"Let's go, then!" Weasley cried.

Blaise stopped his forward charge with a hand on his arm. "The wall is still there, as are the wards."

"How are you still alive?" Pansy complained. Her mother sniffed in agreement.

Draco ignored them. The room was in perfect order as far he could tell. There were no flying objects, no gales of magically induced wind. Everything looked completely normal, except for the pristine, white snow coating every surface. There were fat snowflakes drifting lazily from the ceiling and no trace of Hermione.

"Where is she?" he muttered.

"There," Narcissa said, pointing.

Draco moved to his mother's side and saw a single black boot near the bed, half covered in snow. She was indeed on the floor, but Draco told himself firmly that there was no evidence of blood. "She's going to freeze to death."

"We have to get inside!" Weasley cried.

Pansy wiggled her fingers and the door became visible again. Weasley reached for the knob and leaped back with a yowl. His hand was red and blistered.

"Idiot," Theo muttered under his breath.

"Can you break it, Pans?" Draco was running through various possibilities in his head. None of them were satisfactory.

Pansy gave him a look of utter disdain. "Of course. But it will take time. There's a very powerful rebounding jinx on that door. We can't just blast through it like last time."

She was right. Draco prepared himself to dismantle the wards one at a time, but as he approached the door, he realized he felt no resistance. Perplexed, he gingerly extended a hand as if to grab the knob, and felt nothing but a gentle tingle. He locked his fingers around the metal with no ill effects.

"Interesting," Pansy smirked at him and waved the wall back into solidity.

Draco refused to focus on the implications of his immunity to her wards, and instead opened the door and stepped through. He shivered as he simultaneously experienced the heat of her magic - apparently keyed to allow only Draco entry, judging from the sound of Weasley's curse as he tried to follow - and the frigid cold of the winterized room.

"I can't determine the source of the precipitation," Theo observed from the doorway. "Fascinating!"

Hermione was coated with a fine white layer of snow where she lay. Draco gently picked her up from the floor and took her to the bed. She was shivering. He used his wand to banish the snow on the quilt and then the rest of the room. It helped, but it was still snowing and bitterly cold.

A quick diagnostic spell confirmed that she was almost frozen.

"Her core temperature is too low," his mother advised. She had taken Theo's place at the doorway. "You'll have to warm her up with skin to skin contact."

"I cast a warming charm," Draco demurred. "Won't that be enough?"

Narcissa sniffed. "If you want to risk her life because you are too squeamish to do what is necessary. . ."

Draco groaned. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"Well, we're obviously superfluous here," Pansy called over Narcissa's shoulder. "We'll see you in the morning."

"Excellent," Persia said brightly. "I do so long for a lie-down."

"Probably best for all of us," Narcissa added, turning from the door.

"You're not just leaving?" Draco protested. "Longbottom? You're her friend!"

"Judging from her wards, she doesn't need me." Neville shrugged apologetically. "Look, mate, only two people could ever pull her out of these fits, and that was Harry or Luna. For some reason, she wants you."

"She doesn't know what she wants!" Draco roared. "She's unconscious!"

"Her magic is a reflection of her inner needs and desires, especially when she is under the influence of wild magic," Narcissa called. "I'm sure you can handle it, my dear."

Draco gaped like a dead fish. In what world was he qualified to tend to an emotionally broken woman? And why was nobody on his side?

"I don't fancy waiting in this winter wonderland whilst you try to rouse her," Narcissa added. Persia had already disappeared from the hall.

"I don't want to see you naked," Pansy declared before leaving. He wanted to protest that he would not - under any circumstances! - be getting naked, but she was gone too quickly.

"My quarters are on the other side of the castle. So, I'll just stay close by. In case you need help," Neville muttered, following Pansy into her room. Draco heard a distant, "Thanks, mate," before Pansy's door shut.

"I'm for the infirmary," Weasley muttered, rubbing his blistered hand.

"We could stay," Theo offered stoutly, but was promptly elbowed in the gut by his lover.

Draco shot them both a look that made very clear his feelings on that lukewarm offer.

"Floo us if you need help," Blaise gave Draco a look of sympathy. Theo threw him a half-hearted smile and a shrug before snaking his arm around Blaise's waist and leading him back to their room.

Cursing under his breath at the cowardice of his friends, he slammed the door shut with his wand. Gingerly, Draco stripped off the outer layers of Granger's soaking wet clothes. Her skin was icy and covered in gooseflesh. He cast another warming charm before tucking her under the quilt. His own shirt was sprinkled with tiny snowflakes. With a heavy sigh, he set his wand next to hers on the bedside table. He pulled his shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes and trousers, and then stopped for a moment.

The line of her spine was a beautiful thing. It started from her long neck, traveled down between shoulder blades and past her too-thin waist before disappearing into her knickers. He was gripped with a sudden desire to follow that delectable path with his tongue. Closing his eyes for a moment, he turned his attention inward.

 _Keep yourself under control, you mangy reptile._

There was not even a stirring of response, and Draco assumed his Dragon had gotten the message. He silently chastised himself as well, realizing that it had been months since he had been in bed with a woman. This particular woman was half-naked, incredibly smart and frighteningly powerful - whose skin had been insanely soft - and who had indirectly declared that she not only trusted him, but needed him. Fully aware that this was a colossal mistake, but unable to withstand the sight of her quaking limbs, he slid into the bed.

Draco pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his legs in and around hers. He covered them both with the quilt and then started chafing at her cold arms. Bloody hell, her fingers and toes were like ice. The snowfall had lessened, but there were still frozen flakes drifting onto the quilt. He knew he had to get through to her, but he wasn't sure how.

"What now, Granger?" he whispered, smoothing a curl away from her ear. "What do you need me to do?"

There was no answer, so Draco merely settled into the soft pillow, the need to warm her more important than any other concern. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the nape of her neck, feeling the silky curls tickle his nose, and allowed her scent to fill his nostrils.

Their breathing quickly synchronized, he could feel the heat from his skin slowly seeping into hers. Their current position was familiar and the sound of their matched breaths triggered an idea. He slid his hand around to her belly and focused his mind on the rhythm of her even breaths.

The cold room floated away from his consciousness and he was standing in a snow-covered cemetery. At least it wasn't cold, he silently groused. Distantly, he was still aware of the frigid room, the soft feeling of snow tickling his face, and a slowly warming woman wrapped up in his arms.

She was standing in front of three graves. Instead of battle fatigues, she was wearing Muggle denims and a fluffy red sweater. Her hair was long and fell to her waist in a wild tangle.

The crisp sound of his shoes in the snow caught her attention. When she turned to see him, he hardly recognized her. There was something missing in her posture, in the tilt of her head. It was as if she were painted in grey, with none of the lovely, bright colors that made her so fascinating.

"Draco." She seemed unsurprised to see him.

"What the fuck are you doing, Granger?" he demanded.

"I'm not sure," she said vaguely.

Coming up behind her, he studied the headstones. Two of them were worn, but very clear.

"Lily and James Potter," he read under his breath. The names jarred him. He looked around for the first time and took in the sight of the most famous village in recent history. "Godric's Hollow?"

"Harry and I came here when we were on the run," she said. "Ron had left us, and we were desperate and starving. We needed the Sword of Gryffindor. Instead we found Nagini."

The third grave marker was fuzzy and blinked in and out of his vision as if it didn't truly belong. He thought he could make out the name engraved on the stone if he truly focused, but decided he might know it anyway.

"You need to come back to reality," Draco told her.

"I'd rather not." She scuffed at the snow with her foot. "Real life is rather depressing at the moment."

"And this place is better?" he demanded, indicating the cemetery with wide arms.

"I'm not sure what this is," she admitted, blinking at him. "When I've disappeared in the past, I've always gone to a dark void. It's warm and comforting. I've never created an entirely new world in which to hide. It's a rather ominous indication of my mental state."

Ominous, indeed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking away.

"I'm not really here." Draco realized he had said it too quickly and cursed himself. "I'm just a part of this fantasy world."

She snorted. "Not likely. The Draco in my imagination is far less obnoxious."

He didn't have time to process the fact that he featured in her fantasies before she swung around to face him, pinning him with suspicious brown eyes.

"How did you get here?"

"The same way you did?" he offered lamely.

She frowned at him and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. Bugger. It was only a matter of time before he was caught out.

"You liar!" she gasped. "You followed me here! And you were there when I saw my dragon form as well. Lying Slytherin bastard!"

Draco adopted a careless posture. "Don't lose your mind, Granger."

"I knew it!" She suddenly looked more like herself. "How is that possible?"

"Let's focus on the matter at hand," Draco reprimanded. They didn't have time to dig into the metaphysical implications of unprecedented psychic connections, no matter how much it made her eyes sparkle. "Why are _you_ here?"

Hermione's face closed up and she turned away.

"Is it because of Kingsley?" he asked. "Because I may have found a way around that fucking prick."

"That's nice of you." There was no inflection in her voice when she spoke.

He wasn't sure what to do. By the gods, he hated feeling helpless.

"Hermione," he prodded softly, coming closer. "Please talk to me."

She was silent for a long moment.

"Luna's a monster," she whispered. Snow began to fall. Somewhere far away in an underground room, Draco could feel his body get colder.

He wondered if he should deny it. He decided to be honest. "Yes."

"You saw it." She swallowed. "I didn't."

He didn't want to tell her that it was easy for one monster to identify another.

"You love her," he offered instead. "Love can often cloud our minds."

"And I thought she loved me. Now I'm not sure if she's even capable of that. I don't know which is worse: being lied to or being loved by a psychopath."

Being loved by a psychopath was far worse, in Draco's experience, but he wasn't sure she actually wanted his opinion, so he kept his mouth shut.

A snowflake landed on her cheek and melted instantly. Draco wiped the water away with his thumb, then let his hand smooth the skin of her cheek. She sighed with closed eyes and gripped his wrist. He assumed she would push him away until she pressed her nose into his palm instead. Her face crumpled.

"Harry's dying." Her lashes were wet though no tears fell.

Draco realized there was a very real danger of Hermione falling apart, fully and permanently. The world around them wavered sickeningly as she reeled from emotion. He gave in to his instincts and wrapped his arms around her as if he could keep the pieces of her from floating away. Cold fingers dug into his back, and she sniffled against his collar.

"How long?" he asked.

"A week. Maybe two." Hermione's voice was muffled. "It feels as if the ground under me is turning to quicksand. I knew it was coming, but now that it's here, I'm not sure what to do."

"You can start by coming back," Draco offered. "Hiding here isn't solving any of your problems."

"I don't want to," she argued.

"Well that's just too fucking bad," Draco returned. "You don't get to hide out here while the rest of us fight. And this isn't really want you want, anyway."

"You're right," she groaned, stepping back from him.

His arms felt cold. If someone had told him a month ago that he would be standing in a psychic world, holding Hermione Granger while she grieved, and that it would feel like the most natural thing in the world, he would have laughed himself sick.

There was the slightest bit of reticence left in her slumped posture. He could tell she was afraid to wake up, but of course, she would do it anyway. Because she was Hermione Granger and the world needed her.

She heaved a heavy sigh. "Time to wake up."

The room blinked back into focus. There was a fine layer of snow on every surface and pearls of water droplets in their hair. Against his chest, Hermione still felt chilled. Draco instinctively tightened his arm around her as the Dragon purred, and was reassured when she squeaked. He released her and she sat up and scooted away a bit, holding the quilt to her neck in the cold.

"Merlin!" she breathed as she surveyed the room. The snow was gone in a blink and the air warmed noticeably. She turned with an accusing glare. "How did you get through my wards?"

"Walked right through," he answered smugly. "Apparently, I was the only one you wanted to see."

He grinned slyly at her and waited for the embarrassment. Instead, she appeared to be weighing him with her eyes. After a moment, she hummed noncommittally and pulled away. What did that mean?

"And don't do this again," he grumbled. "If you want to get my attention, you can bloody well floo me or send a Patronus next time."

Hermione shook her head in amusement. "Point taken."

Draco was utterly confused by her easy acceptance of his jibes.

With a sigh, she collapsed back on the bed. "I'm so tired."

That explained it, he thought to himself. She was just exhausted, and honestly, Draco was a bit knackered as well. He propped his head up with one hand and studied her, wondering when she would realize they were both half-naked in her bed. If that didn't get a reaction, nothing would.

"You don't seem bothered by the fact that you were able to follow me into my mind."

If it wasn't still cold in the room, Draco would have gotten up at that point. He really didn't want to have this conversation. He had heard of similar magical connections of course, but they were mostly between Veela mates or people who had been soul-bonded. Since neither of those situations applied, he was reluctant to find an answer to their quandary. He doubted very much that either of them would like it.

"Doesn't it seem strange to you?" she pressed.

"If you're looking for some kind of mystical explanation, I don't have it." Maybe he should brave the cold and leave after all.

"But you followed me into my meditation. Twice!"

Draco sighed and sat up. "Don't overthink it, Granger."

"Don't overthink it? Have you met me?"

She sat up completely and turned to face him, ready to do battle. As the quilt fell away, she looked down at herself.

"I'm naked," she said absently.

"You most certainly are not naked," he countered, feeling as if he had to defend himself.

"Merlin's pants, I'm naked!" She shrieked and tried to dive under the covers, but only succeeded in flopping on the mattress with a single corner of the bedding.

"Give me the blanket, you prat!" she shrieked.

He laughed and pulled the blanket further out of her reach, delighting in her discomfort. As he watched, he saw something he hadn't noticed the when he had removed her clothing. Scars. Many of them. The Dragon rumbled unhappily and started pacing around in the back of Draco's mind. For once, Draco agreed with the beast.

A particularly violent grab landed her elbow near his groin, and suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.

"Stop wiggling around! For fuck's sake, a swimming costume shows more skin than those ragged cotton underthings!"

She stopped fighting for cover and lay still, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

"I have them too," he told her, pointing out a particularly ragged scar that ran across his chest.

"Harry did that to you, didn't he?" she asked in a whisper.

"He did. He may not have realized it at the time, but I had it coming."

Hermione moved her arms a bit to reveal a dark red line which traveled from under her right breast, across her ribs and to her left hip.

"This big one is from Dolohov," she told him. "Department of Mysteries in fifth year."

Draco added the name to his ever-growing kill list.

As close to her as he was, he could see faint lines that looked like wild vines curling around her belly and hips and down her arms and legs. He knew if he turned her over, he would see they originated from her spine, and probably covered most of her body. They were the mark of the cruciatus, applied unrelentingly and without mercy. He extended a single finger and passed it along the curve a particularly long scar.

"Bellatrix?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Rodolphos kept me like a pet," she explained calmly. "Bellatrix took issue with his affections and punished me for them."

A burning pit of hatred uncoiled in his stomach. He had heard whispers of Rodolphos and his unseemly captivation with a Mudblood prisoner, but nobody was willing to elaborate and risk the wrath of Bellatrix. She had wanted her husband's disgusting behavior buried away and never spoken of again. The truth made him sick to his stomach. He regretted all those times he had interacted with the filthy excuse for a wizard and never realized to whom he was speaking. He regretted all those missed opportunities to make him pay.

"That man is marked for death," he growled.

"Yes, he is," she agreed with a hard edge to her voice. Having seen the marks of her past torment, Draco pulled the blanket up to her waist to keep her warm, slightly ashamed of himself. He had no business grilling her about her past or forcing her to reveal the painful parts of herself.

A lyrical sigh left her mouth. "Oh, I wish I had a cigarette."

"You smoke?" The idea was preposterous.

He continued to trace the scars on her skin, watching bumps rise in the wake of his touch. Touching her was strange. It felt forbidden, yet completely natural. He thought he could lay next to her and spend all his time discovering her skin. Among other things.

"The nicotine helps calm my nerves, but now the ritual involved is just as comforting." She curved her hand as if holding a cigarette carton and pantomimed the movements. "Tap, tap, tap. Cigarette. Light. Inhale. Release. Repeat. I suppose as far as oral fixations go, it has its benefits."

"Disgusting habit."

There was a particularly beautiful whorl of silver scar tissue near her hip. He hated it. He wondered what it would taste like. He splayed his hand over the jut of her hipbone under the blanket, making her shudder.

"You could always give me something else to do with my mouth," she said quietly.

A wave of fire washed over him and he was crawling up her body before he had time to really process her words. She clutched the sides of his face and pulled him into a scorching kiss. Had it really been only hours since he had tasted her lips? The flavor of her mouth was intoxicating; the texture of her tongue was making his head spin.

He was balanced over her with both hands, one knee between her legs, but he needed to be closer. He lowered himself down gently, waiting for a sign that she was uncomfortable or overwhelmed. She merely twined her hands into his hair and grinned under his lips. He settled onto his hip next to her, their chests pressed together and his cock grinding against the outside of her thigh.

She was moving restlessly under him, pulling at his shoulders and clutching the back of his neck. He knew what she needed. Draco broke their kiss, both of them heaving for breath. She protested with a whine, but he wanted to watch her face as he trailed his hand down between her brassiere, over her belly and finally between her legs. The thin fabric that kept their bodies apart was wet and warm.

She looked surprised, but not upset by the contact. When he pressed lightly against her sensitive center, her eyes fluttered shut. He took her mouth again briefly before kissing his way down her chin and to her neck, all the while caressing her in gentle circles. She let out a whimper that had him thrusting gently against her leg, desperate to relieve some of his building desire. The scent of her skin was flooding his senses and the Dragon was practically dancing in ecstasy.

Bloody hell he was tempted. It would be so easy to remove all the barriers between them and simply take her. The idea was staggering. Instead, he moved his mouth back to hers and reveled in the sounds of pleasure she was making, and the feel of her skin against his. The room was no longer cold, and a tiny sheen of sweat glistened on both their bodies.

Despite the desperate yowling of the Dragon, Draco was determined to keep his hands on the outside of her clothing. When she ultimately became his - and he finally admitted to himself that he fully intended to claim her - it would be an intentional seduction, not a convenient fumbling charged with heavy emotions.

It would have to wait. The last thing Draco wanted to do was take advantage of her when she was unstable, but he would be damned if he would walk away from Hermione when she was moaning and writhing under his touch.

"We are not having sex tonight," he told her firmly between kisses.

"Do whatever you want," she gasped. "Just as long you keep touching me."

He was going to spontaneously combust. The rabid heat coiling in his body was going to crack him open and light the world on fire. He continued to rub the wet fabric between her legs, cursing his self-control as she squirmed under his hands and fully opened her legs for him.

He watched in fascination as a deep blush crept over her cheeks and neck and chest, the color highlighting the way her nipples had hardened to impossible peaks under the thin cups of her brassiere. Unable to resist, he plucked at a one of the sweet buds with his tongue. The action swept her over the edge. She cried out and shuddered against him, fingers digging into his arms.

The sight of her in such wild abandon, with head thrown back, mouth open in pleasure and body singing for him sent a sudden rush of pleasure through him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It made him bury his head in her neck and spill himself into the bed next to her with erratic thrusts.

Merlin's saggy balls, he hadn't come in his pants since he was twelve years old. His body felt heavy and lethargic. Through the haze of pleasure still buzzing through him, he felt her magically clean them both, then pull the blanket up to cover them.

"You okay?" he mumbled into the pillow near her neck.

Her fingers brushed the hair from his brow and he cracked one eye to look at her. She was smiling.

"Go to sleep," she said as she snuggled under his arm.

The last thought before he drifted off to sleep was a silent reminder to himself that he would need to sneak out before dawn. Draco really didn't want to deal with Pansy's self-satisfied smirk if she caught wind of the change in their relationship, much less the accusations Granger would have to fend off should her people find out.

 _Or maybe not_ , the Dragon argued. _Stake your claim for all to see_.

Draco must have been truly exhausted, for the Dragon's suggestions were beginning to sound reasonable.

* * *

Ginny was asleep in the chair in the corner when Malfoy slipped inside the room. After his collapse two days previous, Ginny had stayed by Harry's side with a bright smile and had cheerily bullied him into eating and drinking and allowing her to change his bed sheets. She took after her mother in that regard, but Harry knew that seeing him in such a state was hurting her deeply. He had watched his infirmity chip away at her spirit over time. Only her iron will and reckless bravery kept them both afloat when it would have been so much easier just to give in.

Harry had known almost immediately that he would not survive the curse. Every day he lived beyond the initial prognosis was a gift from the gods. He considered himself lucky to be able to see this final battle, and die amongst his friends. Now that they were going into the fight with greater odds of success - thanks to Draco Malfoy, of all people - he felt like he could face the end with a light heart. If he could be sure that his family would be safe, he could die with few regrets.

But getting to the battlefield was suddenly a problem, and it was with this in mind that he summoned Malfoy to his bedside at an incredibly late hour. With his wife snoring lightly a few feet away, Harry motioned to Draco to sit. The only light was from a single candle, and it cast his former enemy's face in harsh relief.

"Tie me to my broomstick," Harry demanded in a harsh whisper so as not to wake his wife.

"I'm not into that kinky shit, Potter." Malfoy was seated with his legs arrogantly crossed, drumming his fingers on the worn arm of an ancient chair.

Harry ignored him. "Or a Sticking Charm! That's the way to do it."

"You can't even sit upright," the man argued in a bored voice, now fingering the myriad potions on the table at his elbow. "Not even a Permanent Sticking Charm could keep you on a broom."

"Maybe _your_ Sticking Charm wouldn't work." Blimey, that sounded petulant.

Draco sighed deeply and raised an eyebrow. "So you want to fly into battle with a broom magically attached to your arse? What the hell would that achieve?"

"I can't just stay behind," Harry pleaded. "Killing that monster was supposed to end this, but it didn't. I failed. These people are here because of me. If I had done my job, if I had stayed vigilant, none of this would have happened."

Draco closed his eyes as if in pain. "That line of reasoning is useless, not to mention illogical. We could go all the way back to his birth to place blame, and your part would be the least of it."

"I am the Chosen One. It's my duty to fight with my people."

"Very poetic Potter." Harry saw the tiny roll the other man's eyes. "You know you'll get killed immediately?"

Harry merely looked at him, wondering why someone so intelligent would say something so incredibly asinine.

"You're such a fucking Gryffindor." Malfoy chuckled. "But you'll never get away with it. There's no way in Hades your wife or Granger would ever allow it."

"That's why I need your help."

"If you think I'm getting between you and those two women, you've lost your sodding mind. I'd like to actually make it to the battle."

"I can handle Ginny—" Harry paused when Malfoy raised a skeptical brow. "—but you'll have to convince 'Mione."

Draco huffed out a laugh. "Why do you suppose I'm capable of that? That woman has to be the most stubborn bitch I've ever met."

The words sounded like praise, and Harry noticed the way Draco's face softened. Interesting.

"She's been killing herself over this dragon thing, and- " Potter lowered his voice when Ginny stirred. "And it's not just about leveling the playing field. It will help, but we both know humans masquerading as dragons are hardly match for Bellatrix. There's something going on between you and Hermione."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Draco went still.

"I see you two together," Harry mentioned slyly. "There are feelings between you two."

"Feelings?" Malfoy looked as if he'd swallowed something slimy. "I feel like I want to shag her into my mattress. End of feelings."

If Harry's face could function fully it would be awash in disgust. As it was, he closed his eyes painfully and muttered, "Gross."

Draco was continuing. "Let's agree for a moment that these fictitious sentiments are real, just so I can make sure I have this right. You want me to use Granger's—let's call it affection— to manipulate her into allowing something that will very likely break her heart?"

Harry didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

"This is all so deliciously Slytherin. I think I might be proud of you, Scarhead."

"So you'll do it?" Hope flared to life in his chest.

"Absolutely not."

"What difference does it make? I'm dying anyway." He knew he sounded pathetic, but desperation had a stranglehold on his pride. "I have a fortnight. Probably less. I want to die fighting, not shitting my bed while listening to my daughter cry."

The last part was choked out quietly. Draco paled. They were silent for a moment while Harry collected himself.

"As it happens," Draco began reluctantly. "I may know of something that will help you."

"You know there's no cure for this." Harry's shoulders felt heavy. He sucked in a deep breath. Was the simple action harder than it had been a moment before?

"It's not a cure," Draco admitted. "In fact, it's the opposite."

Harry listened raptly while the blonde man described one of the vilest poisons known to Wizarding kind. It was a long shot, but at this point, Harry was willing to try anything.

"What made you think of that particular poison?" he wondered.

"The Dancing Death is a favorite of the Malfoys," Draco answered, picking at some faded stitches. "Or was, back when poison was quite the thing."

Harry looked at him silently, not believing his words for a moment.

"It may have made a comeback in the last decade." Malfoy shrugged.

"And you have this poison?" It was almost too much to hope.

"I can get it."

Harry was at a loss. "Thank you, Draco."

"Spare me your thanks," the man spat as he leaned forward menacingly. "And just know that neither Granger nor your wife will ever forgive us."

"I'll be dead," Harry joked. "What do I care?"

"Isn't that just like old times? You get to die a hero, and I get to be the bad guy." Draco shrugged indignantly. "Tosser."


	17. To Say Goodbye

_A/N: My story is officially being betaed! So a big thanks to iwasbotwp!_

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: To Say Goodbye

 _January 2002_

 _Hogwarts_

 _Luna kept her back to the room, pretending to be asleep. The walls of Andromeda's house were bearing down on her. She ached to be outside, but Hermione had ordered her to bed, commenting on her haggard appearance. She could barely hear the voices of three people talking in the corner over the sound of an infant crying. It was that wretched creature who was causing all of her sleepless nights._

" _She won't feed the baby," Hermione was saying. "Or hold her. The goat's milk seems to be nourishing her, but the poor little thing needs a mother."_

 _Luna heard someone approach and scoop up the wailing child. The noise sputtered to a quiet whine._

" _We need to find her a home," Ginny agreed, her voice closer than before. She must have been the one who took the infant. "We've tried everything to make Luna love her. It isn't going to happen. It's time."_

" _Cold-hearted," Harry muttered._

" _She's out of her mind with trauma," Hermione hissed. "Don't you dare judge her for this!"_

 _There was a moment of silence, broken by the sound of Ginny cooing at the child. Luna felt something pricking at the ice around her heart._

" _We'll take the baby," Harry said firmly._

" _Are you sure, Harry?" The hope in Ginny's voice was sickening._

 _Luna felt the man's sharp gaze burning a hole between her shoulders. He had seen what she was capable of doing. He knew what kind of person she had become. She was no fit mother, even if she had been inclined to care for the product of her multiple rapes._

" _Yes," he said firmly. The infant had stopped wailing, thank Circe._

" _We'll name her Lily," Ginny gushed._

 _Insipid name, Luna thought, but at least, the child was no longer her problem. Sweet silence followed the sound of boots on the stairs. There was a small itch of pain somewhere under her breastbone. She scratched at it, deciding it must have been something she ate. She sighed and closed her eyes, falling into the first sound sleep she'd had for three months._

* * *

It took less than a week for Luna to regret her actions against Hermione. As it happened, Hermione's acceptance of Luna's odd behavior had been the only thing keeping Luna from complete ostracization. Normally such concerns were beyond her, but it was becoming a struggle to get anything accomplished when nobody would even meet her eyes. Even Neville had grown skittish around her.

She sat under her tree along the edge of the Forbidden Forest and considered ways to win back Hermione's favor. After a failed attempt to meditate on her Dragon, Luna decided it was best to plan out her means of attack first, so she could properly clear her mind. Ideas were hard to come by, for platitudes didn't easily sway Hermione. It must be something big and meaningful.

The perfect idea warmed her like a ray of sunshine. It wouldn't be easy, but she could pull it off and escape any blame if she did it right. It would work towards regaining Hermione's affection, of that she was certain. It might also earn Luna the favor of the Purebloods, which would be beneficial in the long run, especially if Hermione continued to delude herself about her feelings for Draco Malfoy.

Feeling much more composed, Luna returned to her meditations.

* * *

The training grounds were half-filled with spectators who watched as the ritual circle was carved into the earth. The next day would feature the dragon transformations of Pansy, George Weasley, Luna Lovegood and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The entire thing was being set up as entertainment, complete with cheering crowds. The Minister's intention with the ridiculous spectacle was to boost morale, as well as blind loyalty. Narcissa hoped the idiot realized that even a single death would do more damage than could be rectified before the battle.

Bellatrix was on the move, according to the most recent intelligence. They had three days if the spy could be believed. Narcissa rather thought they had less. She only hoped that all her hard work, and the work of her son, would not go to waste in the hands of an imbecilic Order member with a god complex.

Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Hermione, and Draco were carving runes in the dirt with their wands, as Narcissa and Persia looked on from the stands. The day was warm, but one could feel the world beginning to shift into autumn. The large clouds in the sky were dark, but few, and the wind provided a lovely respite from the last of the season's heat.

The circle was nearly complete when Draco slipped away, appearing in the stands a few moments later to sit next to his mother.

"Finished, my dear?"

"Nearly."

Draco was worried. His face betrayed nothing, of course, but he was wont to fidget and had taken to tapping various things with his fingers. It was a sure sign of distress.

"Well it looks marvelous," Persia offered. "You did very well considering the quality of the dirt on the castle grounds. It's amazing they managed to grow anything here."

Draco fingered his wand and shuffled his feet. Narcissa waited with her eyes on the view below. He would come out with it in due time. She did, however, trap the toe of his shoe with her own, effectively stalling his nervous twitching. Fidgeting simply could not be tolerated.

"Do you remember Igantius Peabody?" he murmured.

Why on earth would Draco bring up that perverted old man? He had died years ago.

"Somewhat," she answered.

"He was quite the dancer, if I recall."

Narcissa kept the serene smile on her face, applauding gently as Theo finished the last sigil with a flourish of his wand, but her heart skipped a beat.

"Yes, he had quite the stamina," she confirmed warily. "He carried on for hours longer than expected."

"I wonder if you might have his old dance card?"

"I thought you no longer collected such things," she pointed out. "Dancing was never your preferred means of social interaction."

"I have found a renewed interest in the activity," he responded with a sigh. "I find it can be beneficial to a chosen one's health, even if temporarily."

Turning to Draco casually, she read his eyes. For a moment, mother and son communicated silently.

"A worthy endeavor," Narcissa commended him as she returned her attention to the spectacle beneath them. "Though rather a waste."

"It's not really _that_ much of a sacrifice."

Narcissa sighed. A vial of black liquid flickered between her fingers before disappearing into Draco's hand. It would take months to replace that tiny bit of precious elixir. She had kept on her person since Shacklebolt had searched her rooms. His goons either hadn't found the enchanted box containing the vial, or hadn't realized its importance.

"I do so miss dancing," she commented wistfully.

Draco frowned at her. "Behave yourself."

Narcissa merely lifted an eyebrow, unwilling to dignify anything so ridiculous with a response.

"At least for now," he amended.

She sniffed delicately and allowed her son to leave with his dignity intact.

"These children need to be reminded to whom they speak," Persia observed, waving politely to her daughter.

Narcissa hummed in agreement. She wondered if her son would speak to her like a child after she eviscerated Lucius on the battlefield. Just the idea made her giddy. With a secret smile, Narcissa returned her attention to the activity on the training grounds.

* * *

The door was smaller. In fact, it looked the same as the portal to Hermione's bedroom, fitting in seamlessly with the rest of the faded green doors of the dungeon hallway. Blaise had sputtered in surprise when Hermione had announced that the Room of Requirement could be found just three doors down from where he and Theo slept. The original location of the Room was being guarded assiduously now that Kingsley had forbidden Hermione from completing her portion of their project, and Hogwarts Castle had once again been very understanding when Hermione explained her need.

As much as she liked to brush it off, she recognized that even Dumbledore may not have had the same deep connection with the old pile of bricks. Hermione had rebuilt the castle brick by brick with her wand, and sometimes her own bare, bloody hands. Her magic had gone wild enough times that she had lost count, and the stone and mortar had absorbed her pain and remained strong. Perhaps it had felt the depth of her anguish over the years and had reached out to help heal her.

 _What utter rubbish._

Shaking her head, Hermione focused on the door in front of her. Pansy, Persia, Narcissa, and Ginny were waiting inside, ready to help Hermione complete her transformation ritual.

"Keep your dragon form clear in your mind," Draco said quietly from beside her. "Don't start working the magic until you're ready."

He was trying to look confident, but Hermione could see the strain around his eyes. The first and second finger of his wand hand were tapping relentlessly against his thigh.

"Remember to speak the incantation clearly."

It had been decided that he would not be one of the four included in her ritual. The legally sanctioned dragon transformations of Pansy, George, Luna, and Kingsley were being held the next day. They were to be public, with great fanfare, and Draco had been ordered to participate in the rituals of Pansy, George, and Kingsley. Despite his protestations to the contrary, it was obvious that performing three consecutive feats of magic would be hard enough without lending his strength to Hermione's as well.

When that battle had been won, they had argued over his presence during the ritual. He had been slowly wearing Hermione down until Pansy had bluntly pointed out that he would merely be a distraction. Besides, she reasoned, if the magic went wild - as it was proven to do around Hermione - fewer people involved would mean fewer deaths. There was a general consensus on her logic. Draco had grimly conceded.

"Don't worry about anyone else in the ritual; they can handle themselves."

There was something endearing about a nervous Draco. Hermione wanted to tell him that she was ready, that she had no fear, but instead she stopped his next words with her lips. He paused in surprise for a moment before wrapping her up in his arms.

It had been eleven days since she had last felt the rush of feeling through her limbs, the crashing heart, the immediate sense of being safe. Eleven days of battle tactics, training, and Portkeying civilians out of Hogwarts. Eleven days of secretly meditating in the darkest hours of the night. Eleven days of long glances, small touches, and an empty bed.

She combed her fingers through his hair. Nothing had ever been softer. He was nibbling on her lips, his kisses gentle and unhurried. This wasn't goodbye. Hermione was confident she could complete the ritual, but it was possible she would get pulled apart by the magic despite all her preparations. If the last decade had taught her anything, it was that every moment mattered. So she reveled in that moment. She enjoyed the way his body pressed against hers, the way his fingers gently gripping her face, and the flavor of his mouth.

He grunted in protest when she pulled away.

"I have to go." She saw the muscle in his jaw tick. "Get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

He moved as if to touch her or pull her close again, but he slid his hands into his pockets instead.

"Goodnight, Granger."

With a short nod, he spun on his heel and walked away. She watched out of the corner of her eye until he disappeared into his room before reaching for the door knob. The door swung open as she approached. Unwilling to look back the way Draco had gone, Hermione instead allowed herself a moment's foolishness and petted the door frame as she passed.

"Thank you," she whispered. The hinges let out a rusty chuckle as they swung shut behind her.

It was sunset on the Albanian mountain. The air was still somewhat warm, a stiff breeze ruffling through Hermione's hair. The sun was partially hidden behind the towering trees, casting long shadows across the clearing. Unlike the other women present, Hermione had once again failed to dress appropriately for the mountain temperatures.

 _All that planning and you forgot your jumper_ , she chided herself.

The white gazebo snared her gaze as she passed. Just the sight of it caused her heart to stutter, but now was not the time for pleasant reminiscing. She straightened her spine and purposefully looked away before joining the other four women in the circle.

"Ready?" Hermione asked Ginny as she approached.

The woman huffed a laugh. "I should be asking you that question."

Ginny had been chosen to take Draco's place in the circle when it became obvious he wouldn't be able to participate. She had been given plenty of time to understand her part in the ritual, and she was powerful enough to execute the necessary magic. Despite her utter confidence in Ginny, it was still difficult for Hermione to ask her friend to make such a sacrifice, and to risk her life in such a way.

"You shouldn't be here," Hermione offered for the last time. "Lily is leaving in the morning. You should be with your family."

Ginny's face fell. She looked away and squinted her eyes.

"She's asleep." Her brown eyes returned to Hermione's face, bright with tears. "Besides, it's better to be here than crying on her bedroom floor."

Hermione embraced her friend briefly. Ginny was brushing a tear from her cheek when Pansy approached.

"Still upset that you don't get to be a dragon?" Pansy sneered.

"Fuck off." Ginny glared at the other woman. "I still haven't forgotten that you tried to sell my husband to Voldemort to save your own skin."

"Too bad nobody listened." Pansy tossed her hair. "The Dark Lord may have had his issues, but at least he was marginally sane."

"Are you saying Voldemort should be alive?" Ginny screeched. "That he would somehow be better than Bellatrix?"

"I don't have time to discuss the statistics involved in that query, nor the patience to try and explain them to someone like you," Pansy smirked, studying her nails.

Ginny turned a lovely shade of maroon.

"Be nice," Hermione admonished them both.

The both turned to Hermione and spoke at the same time, "Where's the fun in that?" The dual outburst was followed by synchronized glares at each other.

"Pansy, stop antagonizing the Gryffindors." Persia sighed while Narcissa delicately rolled her eyes. "Let's get started, shall we? It's getting cold."

Hermione watched the last minute preparations, feeling removed from what was going on around her. Then it was her turn. Cutting her hand with her wand barely caused her to flinch. A long drop of scarlet blood slid from her palm and landed in the dirt. Realizing her detached state of mind might become dangerous, Hermione blinked rapidly and tried to ground herself in the measured motions of the rite.

The shoes went first, followed by her clothes. Hermione shivered as she stood in nothing but her brassiere and knickers, the quickly dropping temperature making her skin pebble. She walked the perimeter of the carved circle, squeezing drops of blood from her lacerated hand onto the ground before catching some of the precious fluid in a bowl. Pansy took the bowl from her hands and painted runes on Hermione's skin as Narcissa, Ginny, and Persia looked on.

Narcissa handed her a vial of Fangjuice potion with a nod. It was soon warming her belly - though not the rest of her body - and making her head spin. The wet runes turned cold as a light breeze tickled her skin.

 _Couldn't have made it a bit warmer?_ She groused silently at the Room as she felt her fingers and toes go cold. A sudden gale of icy wind slammed into her. _No need to get cheeky, you daft pile of bricks._

"Try not to freak out and kill us all, yeah?" Pansy had laughter in her eyes as she spoke, drawing the last blood symbol on Hermione's forehead.

"If I do lose my head, I'm killing you first."

Pansy smirked. "I expect nothing less."

When had Pansy Parkinson become a friend? Hermione looked over at Narcissa and Persia, talking quietly with Ginny near the circle. She knew Theo, Blaise and Draco were upset about not being present at such a critical time, and she missed their presence. It had been just over a month, and yet these people, who had been little more than strangers before, were like family.

Draco was another matter. Not like family. A friend, to be sure and maybe more. It warranted further investigation, she decided, but perhaps at a later time when she wasn't about to attempt great feats of magic.

"Ready?" Ginny brushed her fingers over Hermione's shoulder briefly, trying to comfort her friend without disturbing the runes.

Hermione smiled at her friend. "Ready."

The four women took their places around the circle. They began weaving their wands in the air, creating intricate patterns and speaking magical words. The perimeter of the circle lit up with bright light, sealing the magic inside. A strong wind picked up as the muttered incantations turned into rhythmic chanting. Hermione closed her eyes and reached out with her subconscious, searching for the boundaries of the magic.

She felt the moment the potion settled. The familiar feeling of warmth spread from her belly to the tips of her fingers and toes. There were bursts of light behind her eyelids and the ground felt like it was spinning. She opened her eyes to behold the energy of the circle dancing around her in swirls and darts of pure magic. Much of the magic was centered around each of the four women, for they acted like an anchor - keeping the magic from disappearing into thin air - but the magic itself came from her own blood, sprinkled on the earth.

Hermione aimed her wand at a particular strand and pulled, only to have it slide just out of reach. Another did the same, and then another. What was she doing wrong? This part of the ritual was supposed to be easy compared to what followed. For the first time, Hermione felt worried. More magic was being summoned every minute, and Hermione was struggling to keep up.

The chanting picked up in tempo. There was pressure building in her head as the power of the summoning intensified. She had to get this magic under control, and quickly. A deep breath helped clear her escalating anxiety.

With renewed determination, Hermine focused on the magical filaments. One by one, she plucked at them. This time, they responded, and she began weaving them together into a web of light. The runes on her skin started to burn as she worked, pulsing with her blood and aiding her as she grasped the slippery magic and bent it to her will.

The magic was beating at her. It clamped down on her psyche like a vice, squeezing until she wanted to scream under the strain. Through eyes streaming with tears, Hermione watched as the last of the magic snapped together, forming a blanket of tightly woven magical threads hovering over her head. She craned her head to take in the sight of it before closing her eyes again. It was time.

" _Trabeadraki Formus._ "

The magical blanket dropped over her, and suddenly she was suffocating. It was as if she had fallen into quicksand, her eyes and lips glued shut. An instant of panic gripped her, and she thrashed around, struggling to breathe, her limbs heavy and unresponsive She could almost feel the cold grit against her skin, seeping through her clothes.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She had expected pain, for Draco had described the experience as a feeling of being pulled apart limb from limb. Pain she could handle; this was unendurable. For years, Hermione had felt as if she were drowning in fear and rage. Now she was truly being smothered by thick, wet magic which seemed determined to snuff out her life.

 _It isn't real. Get it together._

She went still, allowing her heart to slow. This was the moment she had to decide whether she was going to live or die. Every instinct screamed to fight back, to push against the power holding her in thrall. Fighting wouldn't work. Freedom would require letting go. Holding the image of bright blue scales and sharp teeth in her mind, she opened her mouth and sucked the magic into her body.

It slid down her throat, hitting her belly like a hammer. She jerked uncontrollably as the cold magic sliced into her limbs, freezing her very blood. It was over. She had been unworthy. She knew it. Everyone knew it. Her magic was unstable, her will damaged beyond repair. The spell had been too much for her, and now she was dying. Ice crept over her slowing heart, and she drifted away.

* * *

Harry was nearly asleep when Lily crept into his room. The single candle turned her hair to gold and glinted in her big eyes. She came to his bedside and merely stood, waiting for his invitation. He turned himself on his side with great effort, so he could face his daughter and brush the wispy blonde hair from her eyes.

"I'm glad you came to see me."

The words had her crawling on top of him, settling down just under his chin.

"I don't want to sleep in my bed by myself," she explained.

"Understandable." Harry swept his hand over her temple.

"Sometimes I sleep with Mummy. She's usually crying," Lily said sagely.

Harry winced. He knew his wife was grieving the upcoming departure of their daughter but had assumed Lily was unaware.

"It's nice of you to keep Mummy company when she's sad. She likes to act strong, but she needs comfort as much as you and me."

"She doesn't want me to leave, but Mummy says it's safer that way."

"You'll be very safe with Andromeda and Teddy."

"I know." She shrugged and poked at his shirtfront with her tiny fingers. "But I'll miss you."

Harry had once taken multiple wood fragments to his torso when he was too near a small house as it exploded from a very powerful _bombarda_ hex. This was worse.

The one thing Harry never intended to do was leave his daughter an orphan, but he was dying, and Ginny refused to leave with the others. His wife was a powerful witch with a will to match, but she was in just as much danger as anyone on a battlefield. This was going to end in blood and lots of it.

Harry squeezed her. "You know me and Mummy love you more than anything?"

She nodded. "I love you, too."

"And no matter what happens, we will always love you." Despite his efforts to remain casual, a tear leaked from his bad eye.

"Don't be sad, Daddy."

Her fingers covered his and she tilted her head up to look at him. Another tear. Harry smiled as best he could.

"Oh, I'm not sad, Lily Flower."

"Yes, you are," she countered with her solemn blue eyes watching his. "You're sad because we won't see each other again."

He choked. It was in moments like this that he was reminded of the Luna he used to know. It was in the way her big blue eyes saw to the heart of every situation, and understood more than she should. They could never hide anything from her.

Taking a shaking breath, he replied, "You're right, love. I'm very sorry about that."

 _I'm sorry I have to go_.

"But I'll see you on the other side of the Veil," she said confidently. "You'll be waiting for me? And for Mummy?"

It was what they had told her for years every time she lost someone important to her. He was sure this conversation was going to kill him before the battlefield had a chance.

"For as long as it takes to be together again."

 _I wish I could watch you grow_.

She considered this for a moment. "I'll be sad not to see you every day."

"It's okay to be sad. But don't forget to be happy as well. There are lots of things out there to make you happy."

 _You've made my life better._

"Okay, Daddy."

She snuggled under his chin, and he drew in the scent of her, praying that he could take it with him to the other side. This little girl had come to them by chance, but it had taken only moments for Harry to determine that she belonged to them. He was thankful for every moment he was allowed to be a husband and father, and would do his best not to envy the time he would lose.

He needed to fight. Not just to prove that he could be useful again, and not just because he was Harry Potter. The glass vial of poison blinked in the candlelight from his bedside table. He needed to fight because, if he was going to be ripped away from his family, he wanted it to mean something. Death was coming for him, but the fucking bastard would have to pull Harry down kicking and screaming.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for your patience guys! Reviews are always appreciated!_


	18. To Tame a Dragon

_A/N: This chapter was sooo hard to write. My muse completely abandoned me. Luckily, I have the best and most inspirational beta ever. She asked all the right questions and got me back on track. Thanks iwasbotwp!_

 _Anyone who watches Grey's Anatomy will see my nod to the show in this chapter. :-)_

 _Thanks for your patience guys._

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: To Forget the Past

March 2003

London

 _Draco watched Potter limp out from the shadows._

" _What the fuck happened to you?"_

" _Hit with a curse," Potter explained with his usual reckless grin. "Can't seem to get better. Hermione has been trying to figure out what it was, but no luck so far."_

" _Describe it," he demanded._

 _Orange light, the scent of sulfur, and a scar in the shape of an eight-pointed star. Draco recognized that curse. It killed. Every time. There were no cures because none was ever needed. Draco said as much._

" _You're like a fucking cockroach," he marveled._

 _Harry laughed without humor. "Could you do a little research?"_

 _There was fear buried deep in his voice. Draco knew it was pointless, especially if Granger hadn't been able to find any solutions. The Chosen One was going to die, the Order was going to fail, and probably long before Draco could perfect his new idea. Damn it all to Hades._

" _I'll look into it," he promised, then added, "You shouldn't tell Granger."_

 _He wasn't sure where the suggestion had come from, or why he felt such an urgency about it. A brief vision of her flashed through his mind. What stuck in his ribs was the expression on her face when she discovered that she wouldn't be able to save her friend. He quickly decided his reasoning centered more around the almost nonexistent possibility that she might, indeed, find a cure. Hope was dangerous, but also incredibly powerful. And if anyone could figure out a way to help Harry, it would be Granger. Better to let her strive for a cure._

 _Harry squinted at him. "I didn't intend to."_

 _The relief was instantaneous._

" _I can't decide if you're being pragmatic or noble," Potter pondered aloud._

 _Draco rolled his eyes. "Both. Of course."_

* * *

That door. That fucking door. It looked just like the one that led to Draco's room. Innocuous, old and faded, the damn thing looked completely at home in the dusty hallway. It was keeping him from Hermione. He hated it. It had taken him less than ten minutes to return to the spot where he had left her. Deciding he wouldn't take orders from a controlling, meddling, overly-intelligent witch, he had paced in front of it three times, demanding entry. It ignored him. The mechanics of the Room of Requirement were still a bit of a mystery, but Draco knew that someone inside had to want to keep him out for it to deny him.

Two whorls directly in the middle of the wood looked like smug little eyes, daring him to lower himself to banging, to pleading. He briefly considered using his wand to tear the thing to shreds. He wondered if such a thing were even possible. Taking a stranglehold on his pride, he plopped down across the hall, stretched his legs out comfortably, and waited.

Draco had been at his post for several minutes when Neville slid down the wall to his right, and Weasley to his left. The three of them stared at the door to the Room of Requirement in silence. Draco made a point to control his breathing. It was an effort, for there was a tight ball of rage building in the center of his chest. The dragon was pacing in the back of his mind, and he was in perfect agreement. How dare that old piece of wood try to keep him from her?

"She's strong," Neville observed.

Draco rolled his eyes. Salazar's salty ballsack. Were they trying to comfort him? He'd rather get stabbed in the eye. The Dragon was scratching at him, lashing his spiked tail and demanding action. With a short sigh, Draco did his best to tune the animal out.

"She's studied this inside and out."

This came from Weasley as if the wanker knew the first thing about studying or had even bothered to check on his ex-fiancee for the last few weeks.

"There's no way she'll fail."

Identical nods of agreement on either side.

"We don't need to do this." He had no interest in sharing anything remotely personal with two Gryffindor twats. The fact that they thought he needed comfort was bad enough, but being trapped in a hallway with them was pushing it.

"Remember the time-turner in third year?" Weasley chuckled.

"A time-turner _?_ " Draco scoffed.

"It's true," Weasley defended himself. "Though she hid it quite well."

"None of us knew," Neville confirmed. "Not until later."

"She went through all of that stress all by herself."

"It's how she saved Buckbeak."

"What the hell is a Buckbeak?" Draco asked wearily.

He could still feel the Dragon stirring angrily despite his attempts to block him out.

"Buckbeak," Weasley answered. "Is the delightful creature that tried to chew your face off in third year."

"The Hippogriff," Longbottom clarified as if there were another animal that had violently attacked Draco in his third year at Hogwarts. What did Pansy see in this idiot?

"She saved that mangy animal?"

Draco had been secretly relieved when the creature had been spirited away just before its execution. After his humiliation had faded, he had realized that killing the Hippogriff made little sense. The altercation had been Draco's fault, regardless of how hard it was to admit. Avoiding the wrath of his father was far more important, however. After being publicly humiliated by the flight of a creature he had vocally condemned as well as the escape of a fugitive the Dark Lord desperately wanted, Lucius Malfoy had taken his anger out on his family.

Bloody brilliant girl. It was not surprising that she had requested the use of the time-turner to pack more classes into a single day, but he was impressed that the Ministry had thought her responsible enough to use it. He sniggered silently. Guess they were wrong. Using it to rescue a magical creature condemned to death by the Ministry itself was definitely on the wrong side of "approved uses."

The Gryffindors were still talking quietly on either side of him. Draco rubbed his chest. It felt sore. He took a deep breath and coughed. He made a silent note to take a Pepper Up potion before bed. The last thing he needed was to get sick right before a battle. Possibly the last battle. He supposed his chances of survival were pretty low in any case. Maybe he'd spare himself the trip to the infirmary and the condescending eyes of Madame Pomfrey.

"She scared every House Elf so badly . . ."

". . . faced that thing with only a mirror . . ."

". . . taught us all how to use it properly."

They wove stories of her like a soft blanket. The rage was fading, he realized. These buffoons needed to leave him alone and stop trying to make him feel better. He needed the violent anger to keep him together because on the other side of that festering sore was fear. It was the kind of fear he hadn't felt since he was a child, staring into the face of a monster.

"Are we done now?" he snarled. "Is it possible for the two of you to shut your gobs for more than five minutes at a time?"

They didn't leave. Draco closed his eyes, trying to ignore the steady sensation of quiet comfort surrounding him. He rubbed at his chest and coughed again. It was getting difficult to take a full breath. There was a lead weight on his ribs. Something was wrong. Snapping his attention back to the Dragon, he realized the angry growling had turned desperate. The beast was screaming at him.

He gasped, lurching upright.

"What is it?" Weasley demanded.

"Hermione," he choked.

Then he was banging on the door.

"You let me in, you fucking rotted piece of shit!" he roared.

The door flipped open, dumping him inside before immediately swinging shut. Draco scrambled up from his knees in time to see a blue-lipped Hermione suspended in mid-air. Before he could take a step towards her, the circle blew apart in a blast of white light.

* * *

Sarah wasn't supposed to take the shortcut home. It was late at night, and she probably should have accepted a ride from Rick Propers, but he had wandering hands and, she wasn't a child anymore, after all. If Sarah wanted to walk home after a party, she could do so. Except the well-lit path took more than an hour to walk and she was already past curfew.

The shortcut stared at her from beneath the trees. The small deer path wandered dangerously close to the old, abandoned castle. Everyone in the village knew to stay away from that place. Some said it was haunted; others said it was cursed. Sarah didn't believe in such things anymore, and if she walked a bit faster than normal, it was because she didn't want her parents to worry not because she was afraid of the specter of a long-dead monarch.

The strange people appeared with a crack. One moment she was passing through a clearing that was empty but for a few late fall flowers and an old, rotted stump, and then it was full of milling people in cloaks. Sarah shrank back against a tree. Two men spotted her, one blonde, the other with a shaggy grey mane of hair, and approached.

"Lookie what we got here," the wolf-like creature growled.

"A lovely little morsel," the other added. "Ripe for the plucking."

Sarah whimpered. Her back was pressed so far against the trunk she could feel the rough bark cutting into her skin. The monsters wouldn't go away if she closed her eyes, but she still did it with the hope that it might work the way it had when she was a child.

"Enough."

Sarah's eyes popped back open. The woman who had spoken strode past without a glance, her wild black hair trailing down her back. Her eyes were blazing; a shiny stick gripped tightly in her fist.

"We have a war to wage," she growled over her shoulder.

The two men paused in their advance, exchanged a glance and then backed away. Sarah thought her heart would beat right out of her chest. She knew she should be running, but her body was frozen.

"Don't worry, little one," the blonde chuckled. "We'll come back for you when we've finished."

Dark laughter filtered through the trees, chasing her as she sprinted home.

* * *

George was dying. There was no other explanation. Hermione had barged into his workshop some days before and confiscated all of his illegal alcohol, just before marching into his quarters and doing the same there. She had then laid into him about abuse of his Calming Draught.

"What difference does it make?" He had been trying - as unobtrusively as possible - to determine if she had found all of his hiding spots. "I'm going to die in that circle."

"You will die in that circle if you don't change your ways," she had corrected him, foot tapping. "I'm going to give you your best shot at survival."

It was hard to muster the strength to care either way. Until she had flicked her wand and yanked the last bottle of hidden liquor from inside his chimney.

"You can't!" he had shouted, panic clawing up his throat.

He had lunged for the bottle, only to have her casually slide out of his reach. Overbalanced by her swift movement, he fell on the floor, his face scraping against the cool stone.

"I won't let you die!" she had screamed at him. "Not like this."

"It's not your job to save me!"

"I'm doing it because I love you," she had murmured. "And you are worth so much more than this."

"Fuck you," he had spat out, his mouth already dry at the thought of sobriety.

She had left him on the floor. Not long afterward, his heart was racing, and his head was breaking open. The first day was the worst. He lay curled in a ball on his bed, sweating and shivering. Madame Pomfrey had come to check on him and had placed a bucket by his bed. It wasn't long before it was foul-smelling and not responding to his emptying charm. He didn't care. The need for relief was an animal clawing at his insides.

The second day was better. He could think clearly enough to hate her. It was the part of his brain that was aching with the need for drugs. That part wished her dead, wished that she would fail in the transformation she was attempting at that very moment. If he was suffering, so should she. The other part of him hoped she succeeded. It would be further proof that he could survive as well. It didn't matter in either case. In the morning, he would walk into a circle with four other people and fail so spectacularly that his death would be talked about for decades. He chuckled, the air aching in his lungs.

George turned over on the bed painfully and found Fred sitting in the chair across the room.

"You're not really here," he croaked.

Fred looked to either side, then lifted his hands and inspected them closely. "You sure about that?"

George wasn't sure. That was the problem. The line between reality and dreams had always been a bit blurry. It was why George was so good at inventing things. Now he had to drown himself in narcotics to keep his dead twin from dogging his every step.

"Go away, Fred." He closed his eyes.

"I can't go away," Fred said solemnly. "Things are about to get a bit hairy. I'm here for you."

"I don't need your help." His head was pounding.

"It's okay, Georgie. I'm here for you."

The way Fred was speaking set off alarm bells in George's mind. He brushed it off. It was far too difficult for him to think properly.

"Just shut up, will you?" he complained. "I need sleep."

George let his eyes slide shut, praying for the respite of unconsciousness.

"Whatever you need," Fred parroted. "I'm here for you, Georgie."

* * *

Hermione woke up to knives slicing up her skin. She started screaming; her eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

 _You're burning up._

Not knives. Ice. Small daggers of ice were beating into her body.

"You're safe!" She could hear Draco's voice through the fog of pain. It didn't matter. She needed to get away from the cutting pain. Her fist made contact with something warm and firm. He grunted.

"You need to cool off, dammit!"

She was fully awake now. Through the veil of cold water - a shower? - she could see his face, pale and smudged with dirt. Why was he torturing her? Her body hurt. Her skin was being torn apart by ice. She lashed out again.

"Stop fighting me, Hermione!"

His voice held a deep thread of power that snapped her mind into focus. It was Draco speaking, but the command came from deep inside him. It vibrated on a level that was familiar to her very soul and yet entirely new. Something base and wild awoke inside her, and she stilled, listening to him intently.

"You have a very high fever," he enunciated very clearly. "The cooling spell didn't help. You need to cool down."

The rational side of her agreed. Hermione's logical mind started working. She was alive; that much was clear. Draco had said she had a fever, which was probably why the water felt so frigid and painful. Though it felt less like blades slicing into her skin and more like a cold October downpour.

"The ritual went wrong." Her voice cracked.

"Yes." He reached up and adjusted the spray, so it was out of her face. She noticed the muscle along his jaw ticking.

"The fever is a side effect of the ritual," she guessed.

"And the potion," he added. "You have dragon's blood in your body."

Now that the water was out of her eyes, she could see a bit more clearly. She was indeed in the bathroom, tucked into one of the showers. Just behind Draco, she could see the large bathing pool set into the ground. At least he hadn't thrown her into a vat of ice water. She was still in her underclothes, the last of the blood runes swirling around the drain. There were fields of goosebumps cropping up on her arms and legs.

"Why am I naked?" she croaked.

He looked away. "You are _not_ naked."

She was shivering, alternately sweltering and freezing. The water felt less torturous when focused on her back, so she sat up carefully and drew her knees into her chest, allowing the spray to pelt along her spine.

"What a waste." She felt tears stinging her eyes.

Draco sighed. Hermione watched as he toed off his shoes and socks, removed his expensive leather belt and stepped into the shower stall fully clothed. He slid down the wall next to her, cursing at the water temperature. They ended up with their shoulders pressed together, knees tucked up against their bodies. The pressure of his body was deeply comforting, and she sighed, letting her head rest on her knees.

"It worked," he stated.

She looked at him. "How can you know that?"

He squinted and pushed his wet hair back, putting his face in sharp relief. He could cut glass with that jawline, Hermione thought hazily.

"You're not dead."

"That's not entirely c-conclusive." Her jaw was shuddering. "Did anyone see me actually transform?"

"No, but you also knocked them all over with a blast of magic."

"Are they ok-kay?"

"A few scrapes. Pansy's got a bump, but Longbottom is taking care of her. My mum twisted her ankle."

It took Hermione a moment to figure out he was referring to Narcissa.

"I don't think I've ever heard you call her that."

He shrugged.

"Can I get out now?"

Draco's cold hand pressed against her forehead. After a moment, he nodded to himself and stood up before pulling her to her feet.

He brushed a drying spell over the both of them, then wrapped her in a towel without meeting her eyes, his movements polite, but unfeeling. A great weariness was tugging at Hermione, she was still groggy from the Fangjuice and the effects of great magic, but she still managed to feel the sting of rejection. They shuffled across the hall into her room, their bare feet slapping against the floor.

How was he not shivering? And had he poured soap into the shower? There was a lingering scent in the air tickling her nose. It wasn't flowery, but neither was it overly masculine. She couldn't quite put her finger on it in her current, unsteady state-of-mind.

The air still felt cold against her skin, her damp hair curling against her neck. She wondered if she still had a fever. She certainly felt ill. Tremors had taken over her hands, and her knees felt weak. Everything was too bright, every tiny movement grabbing her attention so that she found herself following shadows with her eyes.

She watched listlessly as Draco moved around her room, lighting candles and searching for dry clothes in her drawers. Hermione squinted against the light. Why did he seem so different? Not different. Illuminated. Magnified. His every move was amplified as if something powerful moved just beneath the surface of his skin. An idea was scratching at her mind.

As he approached her with a shirt, Hermione could suddenly smell him. Tea leaves, honey, black ink, and slowly warming skin. It was that scent from the shower, but stronger and very clearly _Draco_. She ignored the outstretched shirt in favor of sucking in a lungful of air through her nose.

"Please put this on," he gritted out, his eyes anywhere but on her.

"You were right," she said, ignoring his request. "I think it worked."

His pale brows frowned at her comment, finally meeting her eyes. "Why the sudden change?"

"I'm not sure," she replied vaguely, her head swimming with him. "But I can smell you."

His gaze sharpened. A thrill of victory shot through her. It had worked. Nothing else could explain this change in her senses, or the sudden and overwhelming need to be close to him. Well, almost nothing else. The hunger for his presence had hounded her from the beginning, even against her better judgment. Now that she was experiencing him with new eyes - and a new nose - she found it not only desirable but imperative that she touch him, taste him, _know_ him.

She closed her eyes and leaned in, pressing her hands against his flat belly and her nose into the base of his neck. A wave of electricity lanced up her spine.

He groaned and stepped back slightly.

"Is this what it's like for you?" she gasped, swaying into him.

"Yes," he gritted out, his hands closing on her elbows, keeping her at arm's length.

"Why won't you let me touch you?" she complained.

She needed to taste him, to see if his skin was as sweet as she imagined. The human side of Hermione was flabbergasted by her own confidence, but the new presence in her head was incredibly persuasive. It reassured her that Draco wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

"You're not yourself," he protested.

Hermione ignored his words since they were so obviously ridiculous. Instead of arguing, she flicked open the top button of his shirt. He grabbed her hand.

"This isn't you," he argued breathlessly. "It's your Dragon."

"Maybe," she shrugged. "But you know it's not as simple as that."

"How do you know it isn't making you do something against your will?" he asked, his voice strained. "You're suddenly willing to just give up control to some alter ego?"

"It's not like that."

"How do you _know_?" he demanded. "Where does Hermione end and the Dragon begin?"

The question was important to him. He had been fighting for his own free will from the beginning, afraid that his choices were no longer his own. It may have been the last strains of the potion in her system, but Hermione found herself completely willing to trust that her beastly guest was just a newly recognized part of her own mind and not separate in any way that mattered.

"You're a warrior," she snapped at him. "You know what an enemy looks like. Tell me, does the Dragon feel like a threat?"

There was a glint of doubt in his eyes as he considered her question. He was so unwilling to face the truth. Now that she _knew_ , there was no going back.

"This is me." She spoke precisely, so there would be no mistake. " _I_ want you."

He searched her eyes for a moment, his face a mask of disbelief. He must have seen what he needed because his face cleared and he was cradling her cheeks, and finally - finally! - pressing his lips to hers. There was no more doubt in the way he moved. His kisses were heated, but deliberate. Draco took his time possessing her mouth with long sweeps of his tongue, his hands traveling from her neck to her breasts to her hips and back again.

Fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, Hermione was desperate to create more contact with his skin. Her Dragon was urging her on as she swept the fabric from his shoulders. His skin was smooth and warm against her own. She ran her hands down his torso, the small blonde hairs tickling her fingertips, before releasing the button and zipper of his trousers. As she delved down into his underpants, he paused for a breathless moment and let her touch him.

It wasn't long before he had removed her brassiere, still slightly damp despite the drying charm. His hands came up to cup her breasts, his long fingers playing lightly over the peaks. When she let out a tiny moan, he pulled her to the bed. When he settled on top of her, the wild part of her exulted in the weight of his body even as her human mind felt a twinge of anxiety. Then he pulled a nipple into his mouth and all she could do was whimper and clutch at his hair.

"Draco," she gasped, needing more but unable to say the words.

The single utterance was enough, however, for he stood up quickly and shucked his pants. Bloody hell, he was beautiful; all pale skin and scars and sinister black ink. He hooked his fingers into the band of her knickers, ready to remove the last bit of clothing separating them, but Hermione found herself gripping his hand to stop him. What if she truly _was_ broken? What if she couldn't go through with it? What if she lost control and hurt him with her wild magic?

Grey eyes met hers with understanding. "I'll stop if you want."

It was the last thing she wanted, but it was difficult to explain why she was hesitating. The Dragon was impatient, and Hermione got the distinct impression of reptilian eyes rolling in her general direction.

"I'll make it good for us," he promised.

"I know," she reassured him, softening at the earnestness in his face.

If she was being honest, Hermione didn't know Draco well at all, and yet somehow she understood that he would take care with her. It was obvious this new presence in her mind, which was so completely drawn to his other half, had succeeded in convincing her. She knew on a deep level that it went against his dragon nature to harm her.

 _Mate_.

Hermione thought she saw the glint of scales move beneath his skin, and there, invisible and yet entirely clear, was her Dragon. A deep howl of recognition echoed in her heart. She released her hold on him and nodded her consent. Keeping his gaze on her, he slid the scrap of cloth down her legs before tossing it aside. Dressed in nothing but a blush, her usual insecurities were belied by the light of approval and desire as he looked at her.

The bed shifted as he crawled up her body.

" _Now_ you're naked," he teased her between kisses, settling between her legs.

It took only moments of his tongue and lips and the hardness of him pressing against her thigh before she was squirming and panting in want. When he finally slid inside her, a burst of exultant joy flashed behind her eyes before quickly fading away.

It was uncomfortable. She knew that she had tensed up at the last minute in reflexive anticipation of pain, the memory of her time at the Lestrange Mansion hitting her full force. Her Dragon hummed soothingly. There was no pain, it pointed out. Only an incredible fullness, and Draco whispering to her - _beautiful, soft, wet_ \- and running his hand under her knee to pull her closer. He paused when she tensed.

"Are you okay?" A brief moment of panic flickered across his face. "Am I hurting you?"

"No," Hermione reassured him quickly. "I'm just. . ." she wiggled a bit, making him groan. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." His voice was rough with strain. "Do you want me to stop?"

Hermione shifted, bringing her hips closer to him as she considered his question. There was no real fear, and only a bit of discomfort paired with the promise of something better. He had his eyes squeezed shut, flags of color high on his cheeks as he tried to hold still and let her find her comfort. She could see his Dragon struggling to lay quiescent, and her own alternate consciousness rose to greet him joyfully.

"Don't stop," she whispered, drawing his face down to hers.

He growled his pleasure at her acquiescence and started moving. Slowly, so slowly. They breathed in each other's breaths and communicated with kisses and gasps. It was lovely, but she needed more. An impatient itch had started at the base of her spine, demanding full attention. She hooked an ankle around his leg and flipped him over, rising above him. After a glare of disapproval, he sank back and watched, his hands bracketed around her waist as she moved. She picked up the pace, a slick sheen of sweat forming on her skin.

Hermione sucked in a breath. There it was. That feeling. It was familiar, and yet so strange. It built low in her belly, then flowed outward, rushing down her legs and dancing across her collarbone. With hands on his chest, she moved over him while he watched with glittering eyes. The delicious pressure was building low in her belly with every thrust. It was there, just out of her reach though she chased the feeling desperately.

Oh, Merlin, there was something wrong with her. How long before he noticed? Could she hide it?

"Relax, Granger," Draco told her, stilling her movements. "I can see the wheels turning. Stop thinking so much."

A sharp retort was on the tip of her tongue. How many times would she need to hear him say those words? He sat up, bringing his chest flush with hers and took control of her mouth. His position brought him so close that his pelvis ground against the most sensitive part of her with every slow circle of his hips. A part of her wanted to chastise him for taking control again, but another part - the part with wings - was delighted by his actions.

It was working. Small moans escaped from her throat, gaining volume and tempo as Draco worked her closer and closer. He hummed deep in his throat and turned his attention to her breasts, nipping and sucking lightly. The pleasure was like a coil winding tightly inside her. Suddenly, it snapped, and she was thrown headfirst into a churning sea, a heated wave rushing over her from head to toe.

He peppered kisses along her neck and chest as she came down from her high. Through the warm haze muffling her every intelligent thought, she could feel the tiny nips he was placing along her collarbone. Warm hands wrapped around her hips and he restlessly shifted her up, then down, then back. After a moment, he grunted in exasperation.

"What's wrong?" It was difficult to form a coherent word around the sweet lassitude pulling at her limbs.

"I need - I have to," he stopped with an embarrassed grimace before focusing his eyes on her.

The Dragon was looking out at her again.

"I'm going to flip you over and fuck you," he warned her.

A thrill went up her spine. It was what she needed, what the base and wild part of her wanted the most.

"Gods, yes," she gasped.

And then it was nothing but Draco over her, moving inside her, helping her forget all the shame and terror that still lingered. Hermione watched him come undone and felt a few of the broken pieces in her heart meld back together. It was bittersweet, the realization that she may have found something special in the middle of Hell. The end was coming soon, one way or another, and there was no guarantee either of them would survive to see if this meant anything more.

Some time later, Draco drowsed next to her. The emotional implications of what they had just done were so large and looming that Hermione was perfectly willing to squirrel them away for inspection later. Draco seemed similarly inclined, and so they merely lay together, indulging in small touches and a few murmured words. As the haze of sex faded from her brain, she found herself less able to relax. Those questions that had seemed insignificant in favor of undressing Draco Malfoy now prodded at her.

"What if I can't change?" she wondered aloud. "Despite the evidence that I have a form of Dragon consciousness, there's no reason to believe I'm capable of a full transformation."

"Worry about it tomorrow," he murmured, not opening his eyes.

Hermione felt a familiar call to action, that itch in her brain that kept her awake at night. She needed a quill and ink. She needed to make a list. "We should go to the Room and try it, just to be sure."

"Tomorrow," he repeated.

Turning on her side, Hermione gathered her arguments. As if he could sense her intention, Draco rolled over and pulled her close.

"Focus on your breath," he directed her. "Clear your mind."

His hand was drawing small circles on her hip, mimicking the scars put there by Bellatrix. It took a moment to narrow her thoughts to the feeling of his fingers and her quiet breathing. His breath matched up with hers and she felt herself falling into the in-between space created by meditation. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the weight of wings on her shoulder and the flash of pearlescent scales.


	19. To Argue with a Dragon

_A/N: You guys are awesome. I love all of you. I am also struggling to keep my eyes open. Hope you like it!_

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: To Argue with a Dragon

June 2004

Lestrange Mansion

 _Pansy had never like heights, but had found a small piece of solitude among the turrets of Lestrange Mansion. The tower was very high up, but the tall stones surrounding the top made her feel safe enough to wander on bad days. It was also the only place in the castle where she could be alone, the only place where she couldn't hear the screams coming from the basement. She was walking along her tower, reading a book, when Alecto Carrow found her._

 _The sight of the woman drove fear straight through her heart. She quickly stuffed the book behind her skirt._

" _What are you hiding?"_

 _Alecto leaned casually against the stone chimney, a bright red apple in her hand. She took a bite and chewed idly as Pansy tried not to squirm under her gaze._

" _It's a book." Pansy knew the best lies were rooted in truth._

" _Show me." Bite. Chew._

 _It took less than a moment for Pansy to calculate the risk of telling the truth. There was punishment coming either way, but the backlash from insubordination was far less painful than for treason. With a great heave, Pansy sent the heavy tome over the edge of the building, where it zoomed through the air towards her bedroom._

" _That was stupid," Alecto chuckled, exulting in her opportunity to punish someone._

" _It seemed like the best decision," Pansy returned. "That book is a first edition. I couldn't have your filthy fingers on something of such great value."_

 _The woman still looked amused, but her eyes had gone hard like marbles. A flick of Alecto's wickedly sharp wand and the stones beneath her had disappeared, and Pansy was following the path of her book, plummeting towards the earth. Just before she hit the dirt, an arresto slowed her progress. Pansy thumped against the ground with a grunt, her heart racing impossibly fast. She huddled into a tight ball, shaking uncontrollably, unable to move. From far above, she could hear laughter._

" _Don't be such a weakling," Alecto called down, still laughing. "It was only a bit of fun."_

* * *

There was a small group gathered near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They were the last of the civilians leaving for Sweden, milling about as they waited for the Portkey to activate. The magical portal was the rusted metal skeleton of a Muggle motor vehicle. It was sunk into the ground as if it had at one point been sentient, breathed its last breath and collapsed in that very spot, only to be embraced by the dirt around it. Narcissa wondered how such an object had come to be at Hogwarts, and how it had landed in such an isolated spot, with no roads. If she didn't know better, Narcissa would have thought it had been flown there.

Narcissa wasn't sure why she had ventured out of bed at such a wretched hour. Goodbyes had never been comfortable for her, but she felt the need to make the effort. The last time she had watched her sister leave, it had been twenty years before they spoke again. This time, there was a real possibility that they would never exchange another word again. Narcissa stood apart and watched as Andromeda steered her grandson toward Ginerva Potter and her daughter. The two children took shelter in each other immediately, winding their hands together and standing shoulder to shoulder.

With a whispered word, Andromeda left her place with the Potters and approached, a wan smile on her face.

"Come to see us off?"

"I wished for a _proper_ goodbye this time."

Narcissa silently recoiled from her own words, which sounded whiny and pleading. She couldn't shake the memory of Andromeda's cloak slipping around a door as she fled in the dead of night, telling no one of her plans. It was the last she had seen of her sister until they met face to face again at Sunday Dinner, not a month past.

Andromeda's face lost all amusement.

"Yes," she said. "I suppose you deserve that."

They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither of them speaking.

"I'm sorry, Cissa," Andromeda said solemnly. "I should have protected you. My baby sister."

She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Narcissa's forehead. "I was so overwhelmed by my feelings for Ted that I didn't give a thought to taking you with me."

Narcissa smoothed her features, though her heart was racing and her eyes tingled with unshed tears.

"You were never like them," Andromeda continued. "Father was insane, Mother was a slave, and Bella was always a bit mad. Too ready to do violence. But you were different. I should have tried to convince you to come with me."

Narcissa knew that nothing Andromeda could have done would have swayed her. By the time her older sister had been burned off the family tapestry in shame, Narcissa had already been enamored of Lucius. The somewhat tiresome rhetoric she had heard her entire life from her mother had suddenly sounded glorious on the tongue of a man she admired.

Narcissa casually swiped a tear from the corner of her eye, hoping it appeared as if she were pushing her hair away. This conversation was entirely inappropriate for a public venue.

"Thank you, Ana," she replied stiffly, realizing she probably sounded ungrateful.

Andromeda smiled at her knowingly. "If you're going to have Gryffindors in your family, you're going to have to learn to show more of yourself. Goodbye, Cissa."

"Goodbye."

Andromeda's advice was laughable, though she was right on one score: it did indeed appear as though Narcissa would shortly be intimately familiar with Gryffindors. Her son was deeply entangled with Hermione Granger and had been for longer than he was willing to admit. Blaise and Theo would never part, but Pansy was another matter. No matter how much she denied her feelings for Neville Longbottom, Pansy was deeply invested.

Neville was struggling with his own goodbyes. Augusta Longbottom was trying her best to appear robust and cheerful in the face of what was essentially an eviction. Neville's parents absently patted his hand before wandering towards the automobile, but his frail-looking grandmother was bowed with remorse and fear. From what Narcissa remembered of the woman, she was a force to be reckoned with, but the years had taken their toll.

Narcissa witnessed Pansy wrap her arms around Neville Longbottom's waist from behind as he shuddered with pain. The man turned and buried his face into her shoulder, nearly engulfing the much smaller woman in his embrace. It was strange to watch Pansy, who hated nearly all physical contact, wind herself around a man in comfort.

The small group went entirely still when Luna Lovegood appeared through the trees.

"I just want to say goodbye," she announced, her hands splayed in surrender.

"To whom?" Andromeda asked neutrally.

Luna didn't answer but held the older woman's eyes in a challenge as she passed on her way towards Ginerva Potter and her daughter. The two women watched each other as Lovegood approached, Ginerva nearly vibrating with readiness. Her hands tightened on her daughter's shoulders, drawing her closer.

"What could you possibly have to say?" Ginerva demanded.

"I don't wish to speak to you." Luna crouched down. "I want to speak to the child."

"To me?" Lily looked at the woman with wide eyes.

Seeing them face to face was a revelation for Narcissa. How had she not seen it before?

"I wanted to wish you well on your journey." Luna's hand was idly caressing the grass at her feet.

"Why?" Lily asked bluntly.

Luna cocked her head like a bird. "I gave birth to you."

Ginerva hissed and clutched at Lily's shoulders, but Lovegood plowed on.

"Do you know what that means?"

Lily studied the woman calmly. "It means I was in your tummy."

Narcissa could guess from the surprise on Ginerva's face that Lily had not been privy to the truth of her birth.

"That's right." Lovegood reached out with a single finger and caressed Lily's cheek. "You are so much like me."

Lily moved her head away, a spark of fear in her eyes.

"I created you with my body. We are connected."

Narcissa found herself moving forward slowly, her wand tight in her hand, and saw Andromeda and Neville doing the same.

"I am your mother," Lovegood stated with a small smile.

Lily narrowed her eyes.

"You're not my Mummy," she accused. "I don't like you."

Luna recoiled as if slapped. With a growl, Ginerva stepped in front of her daughter.

"I'm _not_ like you!" the little girl cried. "Leave me alone!"

"She's _my_ daughter,"Ginerva spat. "You're the one who let her go."

Luna Lovegood was once again stoic, her face an expressionless mask. She rose from her crouching position slowly.

"I suppose I did," she said carelessly. With a shrug, she turned and walked away. "It was the best decision I ever made," she called over her shoulder, her voice cracking slightly at the end.

They let out a collective breath as Lovegood disappeared through the trees. It wasn't hard to understand why a woman would take this last opportunity to try and connect with her lost child. A normal woman, anyway. Why Lovegood would have any interest in the little girl was a complete mystery. Perhaps she felt more than they knew.

"It's time," Andromeda stated, breaking the tension.

The group separated, those leaving crowded around the rusted vehicle, those staying moving a distance away. There were a few sniffles, and many despairing looks exchanged. The portkey lit up a moment later, and they were all yanked away. Hopefully they were being taken to safety, but one could never tell. Narcissa would be shocked to learn that Bellatrix had no knowledge of the refugees hiding out in Sweden. If they lost this war, the small settlements of Order sympathizers would be decimated in no time.

Ginerva Potter stood alone, distraught but unbending. The girl had survived much in her life, but Narcissa wondered if she would be able to withstand the loss of her husband and child. Harry Potter's death would injure the woman for a time, for in Narcissa's opinion, a husband was hardly worth grieving over, but the pain wouldn't last forever. However, being separated from her daughter, and neither of them safe, might just break her. _That_ kind of pain was worse than _cruciatus_ , far worse than any curse. It was a deep well carved into your heart that never fully healed until they were back in your arms.

"You could follow your daughter," Narcissa offered, already knowing her answer. "If you truly wished it."

Ginerva speared her with a furious glare. "I will not leave my husband to die alone."

"He will hardly be alone." But he would die, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Ginerva twirled her wand in the air, her movements casual though tears were crawling down her face, and the Muggle contraption melted into the dirt like butter in a pan. The seventh child. It was a powerful thing in the magical world.

"If I don't fight, and we lose, I will always wonder if I missed the chance to make a better life for my daughter." Her eyes turned distant. "If I should die, she'll have 'Dromeda. In a few years, she'll hardly remember me."

The woman closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She may have been raised in deplorable circumstances by people too stupid to protect her, but her blood ran true. The straightness of her spine spoke of a strength forged through a lifetime of war.

Narcissa lifted her chin. "Then we can't lose."

"Can't we?" Ginerva chuckled without humor.

"If we lose, you will be separated from your child forever. She will grow up as an orphan, though she will have a loving home."

Narcissa paused, studying the young woman closely. "There is no other option; we will grind the enemy to dust."

A feral grin lit her face. "Damn fucking right."

* * *

The mid-morning sun was like a warm blanket, soaking into her skin and driving away the autumn chill. Nothing could keep away the cold feeling in her heart. It was time for her to become a dragon, and though she craved the transformation, she also feared it. No matter how much she had prepared for this moment, any small misstep could mean failure.

Neville stood behind her, his hulking presence shoring up her reserves. Just that morning, she had held him up as he cried quietly into her shoulder. In Pansy's world, such things never happened in public. Pansy's first instinct had been to sneer and snap at him to hold it together, as she would have done for Draco or Theo or Blaise. But Neville was a different breed. He needed different things. The physical contact had been excruciating until he had looked into her eyes with his forehead pressed against hers and given her that lopsided smile. Then it had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Now he was _her_ pillar of strength. She had been afraid that he would pet her, or try to hold her in her anxiety, but he merely stood by and waited. It was as if he knew better than to touch her, or make reassuring comments. Her facade was fragile, for the fear was pumping through her body like lightning, and a single touch might be enough to break her. Pansy took a moment to marvel at how well they knew each other after such a short time. Her gratitude knew no bounds, and she reached back to squeeze his arm before settling back into her unruffled pose.

Pansy had kept an exact distance between herself and Neville. It had been pleasant, and mildly intimate, but never more than she could handle. Never so close that she could not walk away at the end. It had been harder than she thought, with his utter willingness to give her everything of himself. He had been subject to many small wounds from her sharp edges, but instead of pulling away, he simply smiled ruefully, kissed her softly, and allowed her the time and space she needed. There had never before been a man like Neville Longbottom, and Pansy was terrified that she was in far deeper than even she knew.

The edge of the practice pitch was sparsely populated. It was outside the bounds of the protective shield that had been erected to protect the spectators seated in the stands above. Pansy still marveled at the sheer stupidity. Building morale was one thing, but endangering the lives of over half of the Order's forces was a foolhardy move, one mostly fueled by a single man's hubris. The Minister himself stood to one side, surrounded by a small contingent of cronies as the first circle was prepared.

The stands were fuller than Pansy had expected. Even as the civilians left Hogwarts, small groups of fighting witches and wizards had been added to the ranks, until they numbered nearly two hundred. A pitifully small number, really. Bellatrix commanded nearly a thousand troops, though they were conscripts and mostly motivated by fear. The Legion also had the Black Dragon, and so far the Order only had Draco. Hermione couldn't confirm her dragon status, and there was no guarantee any of the other candidates would survive. George Weasley was obviously powerful and incredibly smart, but Pansy had a feeling the man would botch the ritual and end up a pile of ashes.

It seemed that most of the audience agreed, for they held their collective breath as George appeared at the edge of the pitch. He was pale, his freckles standing out against his skin like a pox. Pansy could feel the tension roiling off Hermione, Neville, and Ron. Draco was nonchalant but kept his wand ready. Together, they watched as the half-naked and rune-covered twin doubled over in the circle, vomited up the contents of his stomach and collapsed in a heap. There was a general outcry as he clutched his stomach and again spewed into the sand.

Hermione let out a breath and slumped in relief.

"That worked nicely," she muttered.

Pansy swung around to face her, utterly delighted. "You _poisoned_ him?"

"What?" Hermione cried, red flags of shame adorning her cheeks. "Of course not!"

"You poisoned my brother?" the younger Weasley yelped, far less amused.

"Calm down," Hermione hissed. "It wasn't poison. It was a simple emetic."

Another round of vomit.

"There can't possibly be that much in his stomach," Blaise muttered as he and Theo joined them from their place in the circle. They were to have been two of Weasley's sentinels, helping fortify the magic for his use. Both looked relieved to have escaped the duty.

"I thought you were going to prepare him for this?" Theo raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

"I did! He was sober this morning, but the detoxification had taken too great a toll on his body," she sighed. "I had to do something drastic."

"So you poisoned him?" Weasley was aghast.

"You should have left him alone," Draco offered. "He seemed somewhat capable even drugged."

"What?" she spun around to glare at him with accusing eyes. "We decided weeks ago that he couldn't possibly complete the ritual without killing himself or everyone around him."

Draco squinted at her. "Do you even remember that conversation? I said it was a bad idea, not that he couldn't do it."

"We could have used another dragon," Pansy sighed wistfully. "Since you _may_ or may _not_ have succeeded."

Hermione let out a small scream of frustration. "It doesn't matter! It's all for the best."

"Unless you kill him anyway with your meddling," Draco muttered.

" _Kill_ him?" Weasley gulped.

"I think it was very well done," Pansy interjected. "It's not a poison, so it's not really against the law, and the manner of his death will leave little suspicion because he's already a drunk. I'm proud of you, little Gryffindor."

Weasley went pale.

"It won't kill him!" Hermione shrieked.

There was general silence in response to her statement which communicated all of their doubts. Pansy laughed at her.

"Don't look at me like that!" Hermione snapped. "He'll be fine. The dosage was perfect!"

"You look guilty, dear" Narcissa interjected quietly, coming up from behind them. "Clear your expression; your Minister is watching."

Kingsley Shacklebolt was indeed looking their direction as Pomfrey levitated George off the field, his face a mask of calm. There was rage vibrating under that pleasant surface. He knew Hermione had interfered.

"George will be fine," she said under her breath, her eyes following her friend.

Theo and Blaise returned to the field several minutes later, joined by Minerva McGonagall and Arthur Weasley, all of whom would stand as sentinels for Luna Lovegood. She completed the ritual with little apparent effort, appearing to suffer neither hardship nor pain. Pansy watched as the woman flawlessly transformed into a massive beast the color of clotted blood. She was a Hungarian Horntail, her wingspan casting a deep shadow over the pitch. Her eyes were a flat yellow, with no spark of humanity.

The dragon craned its neck, speared its nose into the sky and let loose a screech that rattled the trees. It was a sound of pure power, raw and without artifice. Her tail swept across the grass, causing Theo to leap out of its path, just missing the spikes that dug deep furrows in the earth. Fear twisted deep in Pansy's gut. It was more than the typical reaction of prey meeting predator. They had created a monster, and everyone knew it.

"That was a mistake," Hermione whispered.

There was silence amongst the spectators. No applause. The excited feeling that had charged the group had gone cold at the sight of Luna Lovegood in dragon form. Pansy had the sudden urge to retreat, her human instincts kicking up a dust storm of fear. The red beast swung around to face the group at the edge of the sand. They had somehow clustered together in a defensive position without realizing it. Pansy heard Hermione gasp as those dead eyes regarded her.

 _Run. Run far away._

With a gust of warm air, Lovegood seamlessly returned to her human form and stood for a moment, her eyes still locked on Hermione. There was a question in that gaze. Hermione stood, frozen for a moment, before looking away, her eyes shining with unshed tears. All expression melted from Luna's face, her human eyes turning as dead as her Dragon's, and she turned and wandered to the edge of the pitch alone, muttering to herself.

"Hopefully, she's not off to burn a village to the ground," Weasley commented.

Pansy thought there might be a good chance the crazy beast was on her way to do that very thing.

"She's a sentinel in Shacklebolt's ritual," Hermione commented unsteadily. "She won't go far."

Draco turned to Pansy. "Your turn."

Her heart kicked up.

"Pansy, dear."

Persia Parkinson stood at the stairs leading into the stands, just inside the magical protections. She was once again in the clothes she had brought from their previous life, the dark silk unwrinkled and perfectly tailored. Her back was straight and tall, like an iron rod. The image harkened back to Pansy's first day of school when her mother had taken her to the Hogwarts Express. Entirely glamourous and unmoved, Persia Parkinson had inspired her daughter to conquer her emotions and board the train with her chin held high. Pansy pushed her shoulders back and felt a bit of fear subside.

"Quite a vulgar display," Persia said, lips pursed. "I expect you to make a better showing."

"Of course, Mother," Pansy replied stiffly. "Aren't you going to wish me luck?"

Persia sniffed and looked down her nose at her daughter. "Luck is for the unprepared."

Nothing else needed to be said. The two women went their separate ways, both feeling better about the impending ritual. Neville waited for her, hands on hips.

"What the hell was that?" he blurted.

"She was giving me her blessing," Pansy answered.

"That's not what it sounded like," he growled, disbelieving.

Pansy laughed. "Don't worry your little Gryffindor head."

Neville grumbled, but looked at Pansy appraisingly, probably seeing the way her shoulders relaxed and a small smile played around her mouth.

"A battlefield is no place for sentimentality." Draco had his arms crossed, his eyes following Hermione as she went about her duties as sentinel.

And there was no doubt that this was a battlefield, not only for Pansy but for the people who had volunteered to help contain the magic of the circle. Hermione was more than capable of doing her part in Pansy's ritual, but she could still see the anxiety in Draco. She would have been insulted by his lack of faith in her abilities if she hadn't been so fascinated by the change in his behavior.

Something had happened between them. It wasn't obvious, but Pansy could tell. They had come to the Quidditch pitch together, but that alone wasn't enough for speculation. Draco had kept near Hermione all morning and afternoon, close but not so close as to arouse interest. He didn't touch her more than usual, or stare into her eyes or smile with a newfound secret. The difference was in the way he very clearly watched her, staking his claim with his eyes and his wide stance. It was blatant in the most subtle way possible.

"Emotions can be weakness at such times," he continued.

"And not everything needs to be spoken aloud," Pansy murmured. She pressed a small kiss to Neville's chin, aware that the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix was watching, before backing away.

"Some things should be said," he called to her.

"Later," she called back, her heart racing.

She turned away quickly and joined the four people waiting to help her with her transformation. Hermione smiled at her encouragingly, holding a bowl in one hand. Narcissa held Pansy's clothes as she disrobed. Cho Chang was close by, waiting impatiently with her wand swinging in her remaining hand. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt watched with glittering eyes as Pansy cut her own skin and filled the bowl with blood.

Pansy tried to stand still as Hermione drew blood runes on her skin, the liquid cooling quickly.

"Good thing you're not shy." Hermione smiled at her.

In fact, Pansy was mortified. A woman of her stature would never show as much skin as this. Even hiking up her skirt at Hogwarts had barely allowed her knees to show. Now she stood in a singlet and shorts that just covered her fat ass, with hundreds of people looking on as every bare inch of skin was painted with her own blood. Over Hermione's head, she met Neville's eyes. He was watching her with pride and no small amount of possessive approval, and Pansy felt her pride swell.

"Any advice?" she asked the woman in front of her.

Hermione paused thoughtfully. "Let it happen."

"I'm pretty sure some small amount of effort is required for this ritual," Pansy sniped, rolling her eyes. "If you're not going to be useful, then be silent."

"Pansy," Narcissa admonished.

"That's not what I mean," Hermione chuckled, her eyes on the blood runes. "There's a moment when the magic tries to possess you - it's trying to make you into something new, but that's not what it feels like. It feels like you're dying. We've spent so long fighting for every breath." She shook her head ruefully. "It's difficult to just . . . let go."

"Is that what happened to you?" Pansy felt her breath hitch.

The whole thing had been terrifying, and it had carved a notch in the foundation of Pansy's confidence. All of the preparations up to that point had been so easy for her, that Pansy had expected her transformation to be as smooth and simple as applying her favorite cream blush. She had been eager for it. Watching Hermione Granger thrash and bend against the magic had set a deep well of fear into Pansy that she couldn't shake.

"Yes." Hermione went pale and didn't elaborate, but she pasted a smile on her face. "So just relax."

"I was fine until just now," Pansy snapped at her. "You are the worst at pep talks."

"Sorry," Hermione winced. "You'll do fine."

"No time like the present," Narcissa offered.

The four sentinels took their places at the cardinal directions, ready to channel and magnify the magic. The chanting was soothing, and Pansy allowed herself to fall into the rhythm. It took no time at all to weave the magic strands together. They were beautiful and glittering in the sunlight. Pansy felt some of her confidence return. She was ready; she had prepared for this very moment for years, and she would be a dragon. No one would ever be able to hurt her again.

Almost the next instant, she was proven wrong. She was frozen, her limbs captured in a web of power so intense it was paralyzing. When she attempted to move, to fight, the pressure increased until she struggled to take a full breath. Pansy gathered her will and pushed back against it, only to feel the magic lifted her up, suspending her above the circle. Then higher. Higher. Higher.

Pansy was shrieking silently, her voice kept at bay by the power she fought so viciously. When felt as though her toes should be brushing the clouds, she was suddenly dropped. A scream of terror was finally ripped from her throat, abject fear wrapping around her like tentacles. Death was imminent. She would find her end in a hundred unidentifiable pieces, she was certain, except she never hit the ground, for it was gone altogether. The Quidditch pitch had been replaced by a black void into which she plummeted without end.

Clarity struck her like lightning. Let it happen, Hermione had told her. _Let it happen_. This is the fear you must overcome, this is the test. _You must let go, you stupid girl_. She took a deep breath, opened her arms and embraced the death she was certain was coming for her.

Sunlight pierced her eyes; the circle returned to her consciousness, and the earth rushed up to meet her. She landed with a small thump; her nose pressed into the ground. A great wave of relief passed through her. It was over. A chuckle escaped her lips a moment before all of her bones broke. She screamed as her limbs lengthened and her skin hardened. The cry turned into a roar and then the pain was gone.

Power. Heat. Purple scales and black, shimmering wings. Claws and teeth. It was just as she remembered from her meditations only this was real and vibrant and powerful. A tight shiver ran down her spine, causing her tail to rattle. When she opened her mouth on a yawn of surprise, two long fangs snapped out, dripping with venom. Those could be quite useful. She stretched her wings and arched her back, feeling the power settle into her very bones.

Oh yes. She could get used to this.

Hermione was laughing hysterically, clutching at her side and grabbing Draco for support. He looked less amused.

"I told you," she gasped. "I told you so!"

Draco shook his head, his face a mask of displeasure, but his eyes were sparkling. Pansy wanted to demand to know what was so funny, but all that came out was a cough of indignation.

"You owe me ten galleons," Theo murmured to Blaise.

The sounds coming from the stands drew her attention. She slid around, tasting the air, the frantic movement of the humans piquing a deep interest in her dragon brain.

 _Prey_.

Hunger gripped her belly. That one. Just there. It was tiny, but it had hair that looked like spun sugar. It would be so easy. Pansy revelled in the strength of her body and the breadth of her wingspan. She doubted she could actually fit a human in her mouth, but she could surely stun quite a few with her venom before they had a chance to run away. And they really were making far too much noise.

No, she decided, it probably wasn't worth the ruckus it would cause. Wounding several of the already sparse Order members seemed counterproductive to her long-goals. Besides, Hermione would be quite put out. Pansy took a moment to wonder how much of her mind had been possessed by the Dragon. It was very difficult to tell.

Her dragon instincts nudged her. _Just a bite_ , it whispered.

A new scent washed over her. Pansy lowered her head to get a better whiff, her tongue darting out to taste the air. Peat moss, tea leaves, eucalyptus from the liniment he used on his cracked fingers, and the scent of his skin. Neville. It was all so achingly familiar, now amplified a hundredfold. Something in her ribcage shivered with recognition, and she heard herself whine.

 _He would be delicious_.

Rearing back, Pansy took a firm grip on herself.

 _Take it easy, you ravenous bitch,_ she commanded. _Save it for the battlefield._

Neville approached slowly, his eyes shining with appreciation. She was gripped with a strong desire to lay down and show her belly. With a shake of her massive head, Pansy conquered the urge, only to find herself sliding under his hand, her wings tucked tight against her back. His calloused fingers trailed along her scales reverently, making her muscles tighten in appreciation. If this one wasn't food, it was obviously a mate. The dragon logic made perfect sense, but simultaneously sent her human brain into a panic.

"Beautiful," Neville murmured.

"Enough showing off," Draco interrupted.

Pansy hissed at him and allowed her tail to vibrate with displeasure.

"Yeah, yeah," Theo complained, rolling his eyes. "You're scary. Now move off the pitch."

With one last hiss, Pansy closed her eyes and allowed her mind to release the magic. It slid from her body like a silk dress, and she found herself standing next to an astounded Neville. She glared hotly at Draco and Theo even as her arms and legs trembled with fatigue. She grappled with a desire to curl up in a ball and take a nap, but also with the need wrap her legs around Neville's waist and grind against him. She also wanted to chew on him a little bit.

 _This one is off limits,_ she told her Dragon firmly.

Pansy had the distinct sensation of the beast slithering off in a snit and curling up to pout.

 _Mate him or eat him_ , the Dragon muttered.

"Annoying isn't it?" Draco had sidled up next to her. "It's better to just do as the beast wishes. You won't have a moment's peace otherwise."

She wondered briefly which wish Draco thought she should honor. Maybe there was more than one way to devour Neville, Pansy thought with a grin.

"Is that what you did?" she asked Draco.

If Pansy had been suspicious of Hermione and Draco's relationship before, she was certain of it now. Her altered dragon senses combined to make the thread connecting Draco and Hermione appear almost as a visible thing.

Draco shook his head ruefully. "Not entirely. But I intend to."

Pansy was taken aback. "You do?"

"Oh Pans," Draco chuckled, shaking his head though his eyes never left Hermione. "Take my advice and don't fight so hard. It knows what's in your heart better than you do."

Nothing so sentimental had ever come out of Draco's mouth, she was absolutely certain. What the hell had happened to him? Allowing a beast to make decisions for him?

"I never realized how pathetic you are," she told him.

Draco winced. "Really? Because I am completely aware of it."

Even as Pansy scoffed at her best friend's weakness, she kept Neville in the corner of her eye. He stood a good distance away, speaking intensely with Hermione and Weasley, but Pansy felt completely aware of every move he made. It was almost as if she could feel him breathing. His scent still swirled around her brain, and she still felt a staggering need to climb him like a tree. Mate him or eat him, indeed.

"Bloody hell," she muttered.

"That's putting it mildly."

Draco and Pansy stood with arms crossed as Hermione attempted to gain the Minister's attention. She needed to try one more time; not just for Shacklebolt's sake, she explained, but for all of the ridiculous onlookers, gathered around the Quidditch Pitch as if all of this was a show or a game. All of the Purebloods recognized the futility of the effort, some more vocally than others, but in the end, Neville and Weasley had offered up their support of Hermione's endeavor to change his mind.

Pushing past his groupies, Hermione approached the man with determination creasing her brow.

"Miss Granger," he greeted her reluctantly, removing his shoes as he spoke.

"Kingsley," she began. "May I have a word?"

"If you must."

The request had been for a private conversation, of which the Minister was completely aware, and yet he continued to peel off his socks as he looked at her expectantly. Hermione looked around helplessly before continuing.

"Please don't do this," she pleaded.

Shacklebolt barely suppressed an eyeroll.

"Thank you for your concern Miss Granger."

"This is dangerous! And not worth the risk!"

"Not worth the risk?" he scoffed. His supporters laughed. "I beg to differ. When I succeed, we will have one more weapon to add to the arsenal."

"And what happens if you fail?" she demanded. "Even if you don't injure or kill all the people watching, we would still be left without a leader."

A bearded man with a large belly shoved forward.

"The Minister is a very powerful wizard. If _you_ could do it," he sneered, glaring at Draco. "Then the Minister is certainly capable, no matter what your _calculations_ indicated."

"Arithmancy is hardly a perfect science, but the calculations were not arbitrary," Draco said stiffly. "Power was not the only variable."

"I beg you, Kingsley, please reconsider."

Shacklebolt folded his jacket over his arm and stepped forward, standing directly in front of Hermione. A small growl vibrated through Draco's chest.

"Stop interfering," Shacklebolt demanded in a harsh whisper. "It has been decided by an overwhelming majority vote."

That particular meeting had been held without any of their knowledge. Hermione had ranted about it for hours on end. From what little they could discover after the fact, Kingsley had glossed over the serious nature of the ritual and the risks involved for anyone not qualified to attempt it. The entire meeting had boiled down to one sentiment: if you disagree, you want us to lose. It hadn't taken long for everyone to get on board with the idea.

"I have done my best to remain unaffected by your lack of faith in me, and to take your meddling in stride. Let us hope what you did to George Weasley will not be permanent, or affect the outcome of our upcoming battle. Despite what you may think, you do not always know what is best."

Pansy could see the strain in Hermione's face as she struggled to remain polite and not lash out.

"I know you believe you are doing the right thing . . ."

"Do your part, Granger," he interrupted, demonstrably bored with the conversation. "And I shall do mine."

Draco steered Hermione away even as Shacklebolt turned his back on all of them.

"Cut your losses," he murmured to her as they left.

They retreated behind the protective wards where they found seats next to Theo, Blaise and Weasley. Draco took Hermione aside. Pansy shamelessly listened as they spoke.

"Not too late to back out," Draco was telling her, tapping his wand against his thigh.

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "I'll have to help contain the backlash if he fails."

"Has to be you, does it?" he sneered.

"Who else?"

"And you think you can do that all by yourself and not get killed in the process?"

"I won't be by myself," she replied calmly, refusing to rise to the bait. "And _everyone_ is in danger, not just me."

It sounded like an argument they'd had before.

Neville whispered in her ear, "It's rude to eavesdrop."

"Shut up," Pansy shot back. "I can't hear."

"Pomfrey could take your place," Draco continued. "She's been prepared."

"I'm not trusting the safety of Hogwarts to Poppy Pomfrey!" Hermione objected, shocked.

Pansy winced, knowing Draco was about to lose his composure.

"Fine! Go save the world with no regard for you own safety! Fuck's sake! Gods forbid you use a bit of caution and common sense."

"I am using as much caution as possible, given the circumstances!"

Tiny sparks danced through Hermione's hair. They were incensed with each other, and yet neither of them moved away. Instead they drifted a bit closer, not making eye contact.

"Keep your wits about you," Draco demanded.

"Kingsley will do fine," Hermione lied. "I'm not afraid. I don't need a lecture this time."

She chuckled, but his lips didn't so much as twitch. He had pulled his usual cold, aristocratic mask over his face.

"Relax, Malfoy," she deadpanned. "Stop overthinking it."

He glared at her for a moment before glancing away, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile.

"Go save the world," he told her.

And she left, taking her place in the circle, Draco's gaze following her.

"Shut up, you great fucking beast," Draco muttered to himself. "I have this handled."

Pansy's Dragon chuckled. It was most disorienting. Pansy suddenly felt a great deal of pity for Draco, and a good dose of apprehension. Would she have to battle this wild consciousness for the rest of her life? She would definitely end up snacking on someone.

"Are all of you clear on the plan?" Draco growled out of the side of his mouth as he took his seat.

"What plan?" Pansy demanded.

"Hush," Blaise ordered.

Kingsley was at the center of the circle, his dark skin covered in runes. The crowed kicked up into a roar as he bowed.

"Wanker," Weasley spat.

"What plan?" she pressed in a harsh whisper. She was ignored.

There were cheers and ecstatic wand waving as Shacklebolt took to the sand, his ritual space neatly prepared in the wake of the two former transformations. Besides Hermione, the Minister would be aided by Minerva McGonagall, Ginny Potter, and Luna Lovegood as well. The sentinels began their chants and the magic picked up in a glittering web. All five of the men around Pansy were standing at the ready, nearly on the tips of their toes. Neville leaned in and spoke in her ear over the cheering crowd.

"Stay inside the protections," Neville directed her. "No matter what."

She bristled at his tone.

"I'm perfectly capable - " she began, only to be interrupted.

"I'm not asking you."

It was clearly a direct order. She was equal parts infuriated and thrilled at this side of him. The angry part won out. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the Dragon hissed and extended her fangs. No man would ever tell her what to do, especially not five mediocre wizards who had apparently concocted a plan to save their friend without including her. Pansy subsided quietly, donning a serene facade, though her insides were burning. Neville squinted at her suspiciously before nodding and returning his attention to the field.

The magic was dancing about, Shacklebolt's face shining with sweat as he bent the power to his will.

Neville shifted next to her. "Perhaps he can pull it off," he said hopefully.

As if his words had called it, a wind kicked up suddenly, blowing a cloud of brown and orange leaves through the air. Pansy squinted against the debris, holding her arm in front of her face. The magic flashed like lightning, forking out against the wards. As one, the sentinels staggered back a step. Hermione shouted something, the howling wind carrying her words away. In the center of the circle, Shacklebolt struggled against the sudden burst, bowing under the strain. Pansy shied away, bumping into Neville.

"It's happening!" shouted Blaise.

"Move!" roared Draco, and they rushed to the field as one, Pansy close on their heels.

* * *

 _Have a great weekend!_


	20. To Fight Until the End

_A/N: It's been awhile! I know a lot of you were looking forward to this chapter. Hopefully it lives up to the anticipation. As always, you guys are great and I appreciate every single one of you!_

* * *

Chapter Twenty: To Fight Until the End

 _May 2005_

 _Hogwarts_

 _The wards slid across her feverish skin like cool water. It was sunset and Luna couldn't stay on Hogwarts grounds a moment longer. Too much rage and self-hatred were building inside her. She had never felt so powerless. The Order soldiers looked right through her. Some of them still snickered behind her back just as they had before her capture. This morning, when she had wandered into the dining hall barefoot, she had found her missing boots suspended from the nose of a gargoyle. The muffled laughter had stopped when she set them on fire._

 _Didn't they know who she was? She had killed people for less, sliced their skin from their bodies with a knife made of steel and diamonds. Luna had decided their future, had taken the last bit of power from their trembling hands and drank it up like sweet wine. That person was the product of Alecto Carrow. The person she now resembled paled in comparison, and the need to again control the destiny of another human being was scratching at her insides._

 _A pang of despair lanced through her chest. Hermione would never forgive her, but there was no other choice. If she stayed, she felt like she would rot from the inside out. She needed to get out. She needed to feel strong again. She needed Alecto._

 _Luna was only a short way into the woods when she stumbled across George Weasley. He was propped up against the base of a tree, bottle in one hand and knife in the other. There were several shallow cuts across the top of his right leg. He looked up at her approach and took in the sight of her full bag and walking shoes. After a moment, he looked away disinterestedly and gripped his knife._

" _Leaving us, then?" he slurred, running the blade very deliberately across his thigh._

 _The wound was shallow, but thin lines of glistening blood slid down his skin to the grass. Luna may as well have stumbled upon a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Here was a man who wanted pain, who wanted to see his own blood flow. If he needed to scour away the unforgivable crime of surviving, then Luna could help. All she had to do was refrain from taking his life. She could stay at Hogwarts. Stay with Hermione._

 _All the tension and fear drained away, replaced by a fierce anticipation._

" _Can you keep a secret, George?" she asked, almost childlike._

 _He blinked owlishly at her and nodded_.

* * *

Draco's heart was thudding in his chest, his pulse pounding in his ears as he sprinted across the Quidditch pitch. It had been only a few hours ago when he had watched the lake window turn from black to green with sunlight. Hermione had been laying on her side next to him, the quilt pulled low on her back, revealing the line of her spine and the pattern of her scars. The sight of them had sent a surge of pure rage through his body. It was impossible to eradicate every traumatic event from her past, and he hated himself for wanting to try.

Hermione had opened her eyes not long after sunrise. She had woken all at once, instantly alert, just the way Draco always did. It was the way of people who lived too long in war, always ready, always awake even when they were asleep. It had taken a moment for her to meet his gaze, but when she did, he had watched her thoughts dance across her face. Her eyes had widened, her skin turned a delicious shade of pink, and she had pulled the sheet up to her chin.

"Too late to be shy," he had teased her.

"It's cold!" she had protested weakly.

"I'll warm you up," he had promised, pressing his mouth to the sweet spot beneath her ear.

Now, as his legs brought him closer to her, he rode the wave of panic that was swamping him, knowing how likely it was that he would never again taste her skin. The damn woman couldn't keep herself out of trouble. She would always choose to save others before herself, always be a dark cloud ruining his peace of mind. He would have to glue himself to her fucking side, he decided, if that's what it took to keep her from making any more stupid fucking decisions.

He hoped there might be an opportunity when the war was over, to define this . . . thing he was experiencing. For now, it was too large, too complicated, too frightening to name. And they would never have the opportunity to find out the exact nature of what was between them if she kept trying to get herself killed. There was little chance that any of them would come out of this war alive, and they all knew it, but Hermione might as well be daring the Fates to cut her thread of life too soon.

Not that Draco was behaving any better. Somewhere underneath the terror, he was laughing at himself. The Draco from before would never run headfirst into a deadly cyclone of misspent magic. The Draco from before would never stand on the front lines of an unwinnable war. The Draco from before would never bind himself to a bloody Gryffindor with a hero complex. He wondered at what point he had turned the corner from a scared, selfish child to . . . whatever the fuck he was now. He thought perhaps that moment had come with an exhausted, bushy-haired witch and a shared orange. Fucking hell, he was pathetic.

He had known it would go wrong. No matter how much faith Hermione had in Shacklebolt, or even in her ability to help him if - _when_ \- he failed, Draco had known he would need to intervene. Thus, the secret plan he had concocted with the others just after breakfast. It was simple, centered around getting Hermione and Ginny out of the circle as safely as possible. Draco was confident they could contain the backlash from removing just the two women, but trying to save all four was foolhardy. McGonagall's loss would be a blow to the Order, and there had been a short, but intense argument around whether to save Potter's wife or the aging witch. Nobody spoke up for Luna. Draco knew they were hoping just as he did, that she would perish with Shacklebolt.

It would have gone just as they had planned, except for the small, irritating fly in the ointment that was Hermione Granger. The witch was too powerful by half; the magical wall she had erected around the circle rebuffed him entirely. As he approached, his leg-stretching run was slowed by the invisible barrier that pushed against him like thick molasses. It stopped him completely when he was just out of reach of Hermione's arm, then tossed him backward on his arse.

Blaise stepped up next to him, having similarly failed to reach Ginny. Theo and Neville were standing not far away, wands ready. Narcissa, Persia, and Pansy had caught on quickly and taken positions around the circle.

" _Bombarda_?" Blaise suggested.

"Too much. It will make it hard to control the backlash." How the fuck was he supposed to cast a shield around her and extract her from the circle if he couldn't get close enough?

Blaise squinted in thought. "Remember when we pushed past that repelling charm in Aberdeen?"

Draco thought about it. "Could work."

With a mutual nod, they cast their spell and charged forward.

Without looking back, Hermione threw a single palm over her shoulder. The force of the spell slid them back across the grass on their toes. She never broke her concentration on the circle, where she appeared to be conducting an orchestra with her wand. The other three sentinels were also engrossed and ignored them completely.

"How is she doing it?" Blaise swore, wiping his arms clear of grass and dirt.

Draco was not surprised at the sheer power Hermione possessed, or the skill with which she wielded it, but by the Gods, he was fucking furious that she was using it to keep _him_ away. He had a clawing desire to roar.

"Try again!" he barked.

This time, when Hermione negligently flicked her hand in their direction, they ended up several feet away and flat on their arses, Draco swearing a blue streak and Blaise shaking his head to clear it. Ginny spared them a glance from the corner of her eye, but Lovegood and McGonagall seemed unaware of their presence. Hermione stood in her place around the perimeter, her short hair flipping wildly around her face in the magical wind.

"We knew it might not work," Blaise reminded him. "Plan B."

Draco growled and paced along the edge of her ward. He didn't want to give up.

"You should stop!" Pansy shouted above the wind. "You're distracting her!"

A part of him knew she was right. He could feel Hermione's irritation at his actions as if she was shouting in his face. The newly formed thread connecting their alternate consciousnesses was drenching him in her disapproval. Her response to his attempt to help was obvious; she thought she could save Shacklebolt and did not appreciate his interference.

"Better use your energy to reinforce the protective ward," Pansy continued.

"Remember your calculations," Narcissa reminded him. "If Hermione fails to contain this, it could wipe out everyone on the north side of the castle."

"I don't give a shit about any of them!" Draco snarled. He was back to pacing, unable to help himself. That damned woman was making him lose control.

"You will care very much if we lose half the Order of the Phoenix this afternoon," he heard her bite out. "Then all of this will have been for nothing."

It would take a few minutes, perhaps more than could be spared, but he knew he could pick apart her barrier if he focused. The Dragon was screeching at him to do it, to get to her as soon as he could and fly her away somewhere safe. The wizard knew better. There were more important - more useful - things to do.

"It's time for Plan B," Theo said, repeating Blaise.

Draco stopped in his tracks. "Do it!" he ordered.

While the others formed themselves around the slowly disintegrating circle, Draco prepared himself to shift. He needed to remove the remaining morons in the stands, who were intent on staying put despite Longbottom's directive to flee. For some, the danger had not yet sunk in; they were still awaiting their leader's transformation. Some of them fully realized that the ritual had gone wrong, and were muttering and waving their wands, trying to help, still others were watching in morbid fascination, awaiting the bloody end that was sure to occur at any moment.

Two muttered words and Draco's body was breaking into shape. A moment later, he stalked forward on clawed feet and let loose a roar that shook the trees. The last of the spectators fled the cloud of fire he threw in their direction, effectively clearing the stands. Neville shook his head ruefully and ducked under the flames on his way to the sandy field, George Weasley just behind him. The sickly man tripped on his feet, then stumbled forward to take up a place next to Theo. He was pale and trembling, but resolute as he raised his wand to defend Hogwarts.

The power of the Dragon was potent, and Draco took a moment revel in the feeling. He desperately wished his reptilian body had the ability to repel curses, for he was certain a real dragon would have walked right through Hermione's ward and snatched her up. It was a painful reminder that they were all just playing at being dragons and that Bellatrix was still capable of killing them all. Switching back to human form, Draco stalked back to the circle and took his place.

The magic was tearing around inside the protective ward like a cyclone, the four sentinels standing firm against the strain. He watched Hermione as she worked, a thin line of blood leaking from her nose. Never in his life had Draco felt so helpless. The Dragon rustled in the back of his mind uneasily, but for once remained quiet. He was watchful and utterly still, like a predator waiting to attack.

Draco raised his wand, determined to keep Hermione alive.

* * *

Hermione was hoping for the best. No matter what Kingsley had done or said in the last few months, he was her leader, her commander, the man who had gotten her through the worst years of her life. He had trusted her to lead, even when she was bringing down walls of the castle with her wild magic, even when she would break down in shuddering episodes of anxiety. It was why his sudden distrust in her had been such a blow.

Hermione had realized sometime in the early hours of the morning that if the upcoming battle weighed so heavily on her, it must be just as hard on Kingsley. It wasn't easy holding the lives of hundreds of people in your hands, second guessing every decision and knowing that no matter how well you planned, they all might die despite your best efforts. If it had been fear that had turned him blind and deaf to Hermione, then she could forgive him. So she had prepared as best she could, researched every possible outcome, planned a dozen contingencies and picked Draco's brain until there was nothing left to do but hope.

All the confidence she could muster was swelling in her heart, but it was her head that was causing trouble. Rationally, she could calculate the odds of a good or bad outcome. From a mathematical standpoint, it made little sense to risk her life for a minuscule chance of saving Kingsley. Merlin knew Draco had told her the same thing time and again. Foolish as it was, she began the ritual believing despite her better judgment that they would all succeed, and five dragons would fly into battle to defeat the Legion of Blood.

Except the working was sloppy. Hermione could see how Kingsley struggled to control the threads of magic properly. There was no doubt he had the power, for the glowing, pulsing aura around him was prolific enough to feed the spell, even powerful enough that he didn't require the reserves that Hermione and the other sentinels were feeding him. It was the more delicate work that was giving him trouble. Hermione watched him with growing dread as she cataloged every swish that swung wide, every flick that fell short. He was losing control of the finer, more delicate threads of magic with every move he made.

A strong wind had picked up, making Hermione stagger back. Kingsley had fumbled for only a fraction of a second, but it allowed a great burst of energy to whip free from the ritual. The threads of power were tangling, and the spell was turning sideways. With a stab of despair, she realized there was no hope that Kingsley would complete the ritual. It was time to start shoring up the defensive wards and work to keep the inevitable backlash contained, and hopefully, keep Kingsley alive.

She felt the moment those two idiots entered her ward. It was like a couple of bees vibrating around her ears, wings flapping erratically against her eardrums and the nape of her neck. They didn't get far. What the hell were they thinking? The last thing she needed was a distraction. Did they believe that they could intervene and not cause even more damage? That arrogant arsehole was going to ruin all of her hard work.

Another rush at her wards, and this time they also cast a spell that felt a bit slippery, easing their way through the repelling jinx. It was a smart move, and it would have broken through her barrier if she had allowed it. With an annoyed twitch, Hermione pushed them away. It happened again, and this time, she felt a piece of the magic slip from her grasp. She didn't have time for this, damn it! With only a flicker of regret, she allowed the ward to toss them backward then solidified it so they couldn't approach again. Bloody wankers.

The last of her strength was seeping away, and her attempt to keep Kingsley from the worst of the backlash was failing. Hermione had full control of each of the sentinel's workings, and she was using all that power to unravel the sloppy web of power the Minister had woven together. She should have been able to lift the burden of the magic from Kingsley, focus it into a single bolt and let it spend itself into the earth. It made sense. It wouldn't be harmless, in fact, it would likely blow a massive hole in the ground beneath them, but they would probably survive. Except the overwrought ritual wasn't responding.

There wasn't enough power, Hermione realized. She was having trouble containing the spell. Scanning around, trying to find a hole in the magic, Hermione spotted Luna. Her wand was out, she was muttering incantations, but there was no actual magic coming from her part of the ritual. She was going through the motions, but not adding to the working. It was a facade. What the hell was she doing? The sheer stupidity of it boggled the mind. Hermione didn't have time to ponder the defection before the energy she was trying to manipulate snapped like a thread.

It fell on Kingsley all at once. He stiffened, his body arching up on his toes, his back bowing out of shape. Hermione watched in horror for a moment, her brain tearing through possible ways to help.

"Stop trying to save me and contain the magic, dammit!" Shacklebolt shouted.

He knew. Hermione could see the shame of failure in his eyes as he fought against the pain. It took only seconds for her to make a decision as the last strands of magic tore from her grasp and arrowed toward the Minister. He would die, there was nothing she could do about it, but Hermione would use everything she had to save even just one more person in this doomed catastrophe.

She linked her part of the circle into first McGonagall, next Luna, and last Ginny before finally closing the barrier back into herself. It might not be enough. The weight of power swirling around them was greater than anything Hermione had ever felt in her life. A quick glance around relieved a bit of Hermione's fear while simultaneously making it worse. Draco and the others had arrayed themselves around the circle to help if Hermione failed, but they had also put themselves in deep danger.

Kingsley was screaming.

The hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck were standing straight up, and she felt rolling waves of pure energy undulate against her skin, but it went deeper than that. The pressure of controlling it was crushing against her ribs, twisting her insides. Magic was always visceral, the force of it coming from inside the witch or wizard, but Hermione had never understood just how much was pulled from her very core until the moment she attempted to hold together a ticking time bomb and felt it drain away like her very blood.

The magic was squeezing the life from her.

Ginny's freckled cheeks were suffused with bright red, a shimmering sheen of sweat slicking her skin. McGonagall was cold, her face blank, but her body was quaking under the strain. The two of them were losing their strength just as quickly as Hermione. Luna looked amused, her narrowed eyes reminiscent of a cat playing with its dinner. Even now, after she had achieved her goal - for Hermione realized the death of Kingsley must have been her purpose in holding back - Luna was not a complete part of the circle. She kept a large part of her power to herself, and Hermione was terrified her actions would mean the death of them all.

McGonagall cried out as she fell to the ground.

A swell of magic crashed against Hermione, yanking at her protective barrier. It felt like the hottest wave of summer heat, searing against her flesh. It was hard to keep her focus on the crumbling ritual and not look for the people she knew were standing just outside the boundary of her ward. She wished they would go away, flee to the safety that only distance could provide. Like a feather against the skin of her neck, she felt Draco and the others slide another layer across her own.

The Dragon screeched inside Hermione's head, rattling her brains.

The pressure increased, and Hermione felt herself wheeze with the strain. Cracks appeared along Kingsley's skin, fissures of fiery red light forking across his cheeks and hands. He fell to his knees, clawing at his throat and tearing away bits of flesh. His skin began to peel away from his bones as if his very core was made of fire. From his position on the ground, he reached for Hermione; his outstretched hand webbed with the glow of embers. Their eyes met, his filled with terror and pain, and Hermione could do nothing. She could only watch as he opened his mouth in a silent scream and flames erupted from his throat.

The inferno devoured him.

A blast hit Hermione square in the chest, slamming her backward. She tumbled across the ground, her limbs flailing and her head striking against rocks. When her rolling momentum ceased, she couldn't move. It must have torn her to pieces, she thought distantly. She could smell seared, burnt flesh, ashes, and even blood. Wracked with pain, the edges of her vision going black, Hermione blinked stupidly at where she had stood. A perfect circle of ebony earth surrounded the place where Kingsley had fought for his life. All that was left of the Minister of Magic was a pile of dust and blackened bits of bone.

A blanket of cool healing magic wrapped around her body and she groaned in relief. Moments later, she was picked up bodily and squeezed until she coughed in protest. Draco's arms loosened slightly, but he kept her close. His heart was thudding against her ear.

"I told you I'd survive," she mumbled into his shirt.

He growled and set her back. "Not fucking funny."

She knew Draco was right. It was painfully obvious how close they had all come to being decimated. His grey eyes were blown wide with fear and ringed with the dark smudges of fatigue. Hermione was certain she looked worse, for she could feel blood drying under her nose and along the sides of her neck.

Keeping a steadying hand on his waist, Hermione turned to survey the carnage. McGonagall was dead, her sightless eyes staring towards the tree line. George and Neville kneeled next to her body, staring at her helplessly, tears in both their eyes. Pansy, Narcissa, and Persia sat near them, leaning against each other. Bruised and dirty, Theo and Blaise had bracketed Ginny, supporting her on either side and muttering healing spells. She had blood in her ears and nose, and the dazed look of someone who had suffered a severe head injury.

Luna was dazed, but unharmed save for a shallow cut across her cheek. Without spending all of her energy and concentration trying to contain the deadly magic, Luna must have been able to erect her own personal barrier of protection. The other three women had not had that luxury. In fact, if Hermione had not been able to unravel so much of the spellwork, the remaining power would most certainly have killed every last one of them.

Hermione stepped away from Draco, the world spinning and fury roaring through her veins as she staggered forward.

"What did you do?" she demanded raggedly.

Luna blinked. "I don't know what you mean."

"You do know. I want to hear you say it."

Luna blinked. "I haven't done anything."

"Don't lie!" Hermione screamed. "I saw you! I felt you pull back your power!"

Hermione could see her considering her options. After a moment she shrugged, caught out. "So what?"

There was silence.

"You killed him!" Hermione burst out.

"Hardly," Luna protested. "He was a dead man the moment he stepped into that circle. We all knew he couldn't handle the ritual."

"We could have kept him alive!"

"That is very unlikely," Luna argued. "The probability of all of us coming out alive was very slim. I chose to protect myself. And you, of course."

Hermione recoiled.

" _No_." Shaking her head, she tried to clear away the horror of what Luna had done. "You murdered Kingsley. We could have saved him, and you chose not to help."

"Perhaps." Luna seemed confused but continued as if speaking to a child who didn't understand. "But in the end, my choice removed your enemy."

"You are a monster!" Hermione spat. "You don't deserve your wand."

"Why are you so angry?" Luna wondered, genuinely confused.

Hermione started to charge forward but was stopped by Draco's arm around her waist.

"I'll break that evil piece of wood; I swear to Merlin!"

Luna backed away; hands held out in front of her as if to push the words away.

"I did it for you," Luna reasoned. "He wanted you dead; you heard him say he would remove you! You'll be a far better leader than he ever was. You can lead us to victory."

"I can't look at you," Hermione sobbed. "How could I have been so wrong about you?"

"Please, Hermione," she pleaded. "I'm sorry for what I said before in your quarters. I can change. I can do better. I can be better."

Hermione felt cold.

"You are _broken_ ," she whispered, a ball of lead in her stomach. "And you are a danger to us all."

Luna took a step back. Wide blue eyes took in the accusing faces around her before turning blank.

"You're under arrest," Neville stated calmly.

A wild light sparked in her eyes and she backed up, crouching and ready for attack. Neville cast an _incarcerous_ , wrapping Luna tightly.

She hissed in rage and spoke, " _Trabeadaki_ _Formus_."

The bonds broke as her body swelled, turning her pale skin red and scaly. Her spiked tail swung directly into the Quidditch stands, turning a large chunk of the seats into splinters. She coughed a great cloud of flame and then swung down and snapped her great jaws at Neville, who jumped away with a shout. Stretching out wings that cast a shadow over the pitch, she began to flap and trot, as if ready to take to the air. Hermione couldn't let that happen.

She felt a distant pain as she shifted, her jaws already open and ready to remove Luna's neck from her body. Long, blue claws were sinking into the soft earth, her tail whipping back and forth as a growl worked its way up her throat. It rumbled in her chest, rocking against a pressure point she knew instinctively would bring forth fiery destruction. The dragon across from her was much larger, her bony, crimson spines undulating down her back with every movement. Hermione was not afraid. The deadly beast inside her had taken over. She had fire and claws and the shining white dragon next to her. He snorted smoke and clawed at the dirt, ready to do violence at her command.

There wasn't time to feel joy at the realization that she could, in fact, become a dragon, for she was charging forward. The red dragon turned just as Hermione slammed into her. It nearly knocked the wind out of her, but as her vision cleared, she found herself atop the much larger beast, her teeth buried in the soft flesh just under her wing. Scalding hot liquid tasting brightly of copper flooded her mouth. With a screech, Luna shoved Hermione away, the long claws of her back legs scraping the underside of Hermione's belly.

Looking up from her position on the ground and trying to ignore searing pain under her ribs, Hermione saw Draco get slammed by Luna's tail. Movement from behind tickled against the delicate skin of her wings, and Hermione got a whiff of Pansy as the purple dragon slunk around to the left, her whiplike body sliding across the grass. Hermione couldn't afford to break her gaze on Luna, but from the corner of her eye she saw long fangs emerge from Pansy's open mouth, white venom sliding down the tips to the grass.

As if she could sense the other dragon approaching, Luna's attention flickered away from her dance with Hermione. She whipped around as if looking for something until she narrowed her gaze on Neville. He had been approaching from the opposite side as Pansy, his wand held at the ready. Almost too quickly to follow, the red dragon wrapped her claws around Neville's legs, yanked him off his feet, then pumped her wings through the air. Pansy let out a screech and like lightning attached her fangs to the much larger dragon's leg as it left the ground. With a negligent twitch, Luna sent Pansy tumbling to the ground.

Hermione took off running, trying to get enough speed to take off the ground, but stumbled, unable to properly coordinate four legs instead of two. A great pain lanced through her body, and her legs went out from under her. Too late, she realized she had reached the end of her strength. It was too much. She was too tired, too hurt. As her vision faded to black, she watched as Luna flew away with Neville, headed straight towards the enemy.

* * *

Neville stopped fighting not long after Luna left the ground. There wasn't much he could do, after all, having dropped his wand when she had snatched him from the ground. She was grateful for it. The last thing she needed was to drop him and ruin all her plans.

She was just outside of Hogsmeade when she spotted the encampment. It was not surprising that the Legion was already at Hogwarts. After the defection of several highly placed Legion officers, the movement of enemy troops was inevitable. It did surprise Luna that several hundred soldiers were waiting just outside the castle wards and nobody was aware of it. The camp was incredibly well-hidden. Luna could see the edges of a concealment charm that would block the view of anyone on the ground. They hadn't planned on anyone flying above. Luna would need to fix that.

There was a general outcry when she flapped closer, and a few hexes were sent her way. She easily dodged them and landed in the very center of the small group of people. A cutting hex glanced off her wing, causing a deep sting and a thin line of blood, followed by a few blasting charms that very nearly hit her directly. Her leg was throbbing from the purple dragon's bite, the venom aching in her blood, and the shallow wounds on her belly were sluggishly bleeding.

"Stop!"

The voice rang out from the crowd, and all spellcasting ceased. Alecto appeared, a serene smile on her face. Luna felt her heart kick up.

"My sweet, Luna," she crooned. Luna ducked forward, running her nose under Alecto's outstretched hand. "I would know you in any form."

Neville shifted uneasily but stayed silent. Alecto's eyes flickered towards the man.

"And you've brought me a present."

"Fuck you," Neville spat.

The ring of wizards split and a small witch with wild black hair streaked with grey stepped through, followed by a tall man with cruel grey eyes.

"My little nephew has been hard at work, I see," Bellatrix said.

"I knew he had something planned." Lucius Malfoy fingered the tip of his wand and observed the dragon in front of him dispassionately.

Luna flowed back into her human form and stepped back as Neville was bound with an _incarcerous_ hex. Relief, lust, fear, and disgust all warred within her as Alecto approached. The tall woman cradled Luna's face in her palm.

"Welcome home, love."


	21. To Move Forward

_A/N: We are getting so close to the end! So far, I'm thinking it's going to be about three more chapters._

 _I wanted to thank everyone for their patience with the new posting schedule (which is to say, no schedule at all) and tell you how much I appreciate your reviews and follows. I know I didn't reply to many reviews last chapter, but I read every single one of them and they give me the kick I need to sit down and write._

 _Thanks as always to_ Iwasbotp _for her beta read. Much love!_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: To Move Forward

May 2005

Hogwarts

 _Hermione let loose a wracking cough, her ribs creaking. There was rubble in the corners of her eyes and clogging her nose. It tickled her ears as she moved her head. Was she lying on a boulder?_

" _Hermione!"_

" _G-George?" she coughed._

 _A bright red patch of hair entered her vision, followed by the grinning face of her friend. The last thing she remembered was the dizzying realization that the Order was going to lose. There was no hope, no future, and the generations of witches and wizards to come would bear the burden of their failure. It crashed over her like a wave, and she felt the static energy of her thoughts crackle down her arms just before she blacked out._

" _Nicely done," George chuckled._

" _I didn't mean to," Hermione complained._

 _George gasped. "Don't say that! When the destruction is this magnificent, one always takes credit."_

 _There was a crowd gathering._

" _Magnificent destruction?" Hermione repeated miserably as George pulled her upright. Every bone was cracked; she was absolutely certain._

 _He nodded and pointed upward with his finger. There was a large hole in the side of the Astronomy Tower. It leaned precariously towards the earth, rocking gently as if it couldn't decide whether to fall or not. Hermione assumed it was being held up by a quickly cast spell. What had she done? The tower was destroyed._

" _Never did like that tower," George observed._

 _A laugh burst from her throat, followed by a cough. After Dumbledore's death, nobody but Hermione spent any time in it and even then it was only to escape the oppressive presence of well-meaning friends._

" _Me neither."_

* * *

Draco found himself in Hermione's quarters, sitting by her bedside and watching her belly rise and fall. The wounds on her torso from Lovegood's claws were resistant to healing spells, so it was being treated with bandages and an acrid poultice. The bandages were replaced every few hours as Hermione's blood seeped through the thin cotton wrapping. Draco would stand back and watch as Pomfrey and Narcissa lifted her from the bed with their wands, unwound the soiled cloth and replaced it with one that was bright and fresh. The sight bothered him in ways he couldn't articulate.

Draco's head was pounding with his heartbeat. The hit from Lovegood had broken two of his ribs, and the impact against the ground had knocked him out. He felt no small amount of guilt that he had been unable to help recover Neville and that both Hermione and Pansy had been injured while he was unconscious. It had taken a single blow from Lovegood's tail to render him useless in battle. When he woke, his ribs had been quickly repaired, and his skull mended, but the sting of shame remained acute.

There was fear hanging heavy in the halls of Hogwarts, for the Order's most potent weapon was an empty shell. Besides her physical wounds, Hermione's magical core - the wellspring from which all of her power flowed - had been nearly depleted. Neville Longbottom, who was a well-respected leader and a powerful ally, had been taken as a prisoner. Harry Potter was days from death. Nobody wanted to mention that both Bellatrix and Lovegood in their alternate forms were far more deadly than a small, pearl-colored Welsh Green and a thin, flameless Peruvian Vipertooth. If Hermione was unable to fight, then they were outnumbered, outmatched, and leaderless. With the enemy at the gates, the fight seemed doomed before it could even begin.

Draco chose to focus on Hermione. He cocooned himself in one of her blankets, awash with her scent and watched her stomach rise and fall, rise and fall. People came and went, but he paid them little attention. Twice before he had found himself in a similar situation. This time, there was no snow or flying objects, no frozen cemetery or sad witch with long, curly hair. There was also no way to reach her. It was as if her mind was empty, and her body left behind.

How many more times would he find himself like this? She would always offer her safety and well-being for the protection of others. He knew that she didn't plan on surviving the upcoming battle, and her indifference to her own life infuriated him. He was tired of watching her spend herself to near death, tired of standing to the side while she fought her way back. He was fucking exhausted by the sick feeling of helplessness that stole over him every time he reached out to her with his magic and encountered nothing but blackness. He would be terrified if not for the thin golden thread connecting them, and the smooth movements of her rib cage that indicated his beautiful dragon-witch was still in there somewhere.

Hermione's dragon form had stunned him. He had seen it once before, but only briefly when he had followed her into her meditative space. The first experience had stolen his breath. Seeing her in the flesh, all shining stormy blue scales and midnight-sky wings, long, white teeth, and azure spikes, had nearly driven him to his knees. It had been second nature to don his own scales and stand next to her, ready to battle. The Dragon had exulted in the opportunity to fight for her. He had reveled in the rage vibrating off her body and the scent of the fire burning in her throat.

Now his dragon was very still, lurking in the back of his mind. Ever since the ritual, he had acted like an unobtrusive guest. It was unsettling. The beast should have been clawing at him, demanding that he take action, roaring for Draco to transform, take Hermione into his claws and fly away somewhere safe. It was something the human side of Draco had considered several times in the last twenty-four hours. Instead, his dragon sat silent, waiting and watching.

There was a very simple explanation for the change in Draco's beastly guest. The connection to Hermione was tenuous, and Draco worried that going too far from her might snap the cord, and he would lose her. He had left her side only briefly to check in on Pansy, before following the thread of their bond back to her bedside. The Dragon must be feeling much the same fear. They both observed the shining link carefully, cultivating the delicate magical filament as if it were the only thing keeping Hermione alive.

With a grimace at his own fanciful thoughts, he finished off his cup of tea, leaving Hermione in the care of Weasley and she-Potter to check in on his oldest friend. He refused to believe that her hold on life was so fragile, or that it relied entirely on him and the beast living in his skull. It was habit that kept a part of his mind focused on their connection, but it made him notice the sensation of Hermione's breathing, flowing through the bond like gentle waves. It gave him the strength to walk away, if only for a few moments.

Pansy had broken several bones when she fell. After an excruciating round of Skele-Grow, it had taken a Calming Draught to keep her from flying into the enemy camp and laying waste to every living creature within. It had been administered forcefully, while she kicked and screamed and threw magic from her fingertips. Draco had been with Hermione at the time, but apparently, it had taken four people to keep her contained. Theo and Blaise were in the hall as Draco left Hermione's room, both bruised and scratched.

"It's a bit safer now," Blaise offered. "She's slept for a bit."

"Is she more reasonable?" Draco knew better.

"No," Theo confirmed, fingering a scratch that looked newer than the rest.

Blaise narrowed his eyes at Theo, who promptly stopped picking at his wound. "She wants to attack."

"She's right," Theo growled, his temper bubbling to the surface. "We need to destroy them."

"We will." Draco clapped him on the shoulder. A silent agreement passed among the three of them, to either bring Neville back home alive or avenge his death. The man had become one of them, and not just because Pansy had claimed him.

Persia and Narcissa bustled about the small room, folding clothes and tidying the few things Pansy had collected during her time at Hogwarts. His fiery best friend was lying on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling, with her long, black hair forming a halo around her pale face. Draco didn't ask how she was doing when he sat beside her on the bed, only wrapped his fingers around her arm.

"Do you think he's dead?" she croaked.

"I don't know." Draco knew platitudes wouldn't help.

"I hope he's dead," Pansy whispered, a tear sliding down her temple.

The old Draco would have agreed; death was preferable to the kind of pain and humiliation Alecto and Bellatrix would wreak. The new Draco understood the value of saving a life, even if it meant crawling out from a bottomless pit of darkness.

"Do you think she killed him?" she repeated unevenly.

"I don't know, Pans."

"He'll be broken. Like Lovegood." She sucked in a breath. "That bitch!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Persia broke in, she folded the edge of Pansy's sheet back, then smoothed it. "They won't break him."

"They likely won't have time," Narcissa interjected reasonably. "The battle is imminent. Not even Alecto can destroy a person in only a few days."

"He's a strong boy," Persia continued. "These Gryffindors can withstand horrors none of us can even comprehend."

It was the most profound statement Persia Parkinson had ever uttered, besides being uplifting and insightful. It didn't matter that Draco and Pansy knew better. They knew what Neville faced; they had both seen what was left of prisoners being carried out of the basement of Lestrange Manor in bags. Pansy patted her mother's hand, briefly stalled by her mother's unexpected sensitivity.

"You're right," she lied.

The two women left a moment later, Persia to procure some food from the dining hall and Narcissa to look in on Hermione.

"I can't bear it." Pansy had her hand pressed against her ribs, trying to stifle a pain that was far from physical. "How did I let this happen?"

"There was nothing you could do," Draco offered, though he knew she wouldn't believe it. "It took us all by surprise."

"Not that." she hiccuped. "How did I let myself fall in love?"

Draco jerked away, shocked. "You're in love with him?"

A sad chuckle from Pansy, and another tear. "It's not a dirty word, Drake."

"The hell it isn't!"

The two of them had decided long ago that romantic love was a weakness. Love your friends, love your House, love your successes, but never give your heart away.

"You're not in love with Hermione?" It sounded rhetorical, but it caused a hiccup in his heart.

"I -" Draco stumbled. "I - Hermione is -"

"Merlin's balls, don't hurt yourself." She wiped the moisture from her face with a grimace.

He shook his head. "There's this - thing - between us," he tried to explain. "It's different than anything else I've ever felt."

The admission was painful.

"It's love," she argued. "It's hard to recognize for cold-hearted reptiles like us."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that word."

"I've said the word before, you arsehole."

"To Neville?"

Silence.

"I should have said it," she whispered after a moment. "He was right there, practically shouting it out and I brushed him off."

Draco could hear her heart breaking with every word. He sighed and squeezed her arm, unsure of what to say.

"You should tell her," Pansy said suddenly, turning to him.

Draco recoiled. "Stop it, Pans."

"You love her," she continued, despite Draco shaking his head vehemently in denial. "Besides, weren't you just talking about claiming her or some such nonsense? Good luck with that, by the way," she muttered, lying back down with a sigh.

Love was just a vehicle for pain and loss. What he felt for Hermione was entirely different. She _belonged_ to him. The Dragon nodded in agreement. Pansy couldn't possibly understand, and Draco wasn't going to argue with her.

"She's a good person," he said lamely. It sounded pathetic.

"Neville's more than that." It came out quietly and slightly slurred. She was falling back under the weight of the Calming Draught. "He's like the sun."

It was a silly statement, and definitely drug-induced, but it made perfect sense to Draco. It was no coincidence that the colors of Gryffindor house were red and gold, colors of blood and life and riches. Much the same way that the colors of Slytherin were those of rot and death and cold, lifeless coin.

Hermione was still asleep when he returned to her room. Weasley and Potter's wife had gone, leaving Narcissa seated next to the fire, sipping tea. Draco sat next to her in silence. Hermione shifted, sighed gently, and rolled over. It was the first sign of consciousness she had evinced in nearly twenty-four hours. Draco closed his eyes and tested the bond shining between them. It was almost tangible in its strength. A sigh tumbled from his mouth as a band of pressure loosened from around his chest.

"She's getting stronger," Narcissa said over her tea cup. "She'll awaken any time now."

The only sound in the room was the clink of her cup and quiet sipping.

"When are you going to forgive me?" she asked into the silence.

Draco closed his eyes and tried to stifle the anger her words provoked. To an outsider, their interactions might appear usual, if a bit formal and stilted. Between Narcissa and Draco, however, a silent war was waging.

"You knew," he growled. The Dragon lashed his tail.

"I did."

He wanted to roar. He wanted to spit fire and taste blood.

"How many times? How many times did you see me and not reveal your knowledge? How many times did you speak to me and lie?"

"You're being overdramatic." She sipped her tea.

"You should have told me!"

"Telling you would only have accomplished satisfying your need for revenge," she argued. "And he was not expendable. Not like the others you removed."

Draco felt his shoulders stiffen.

"You think I didn't know?" she continued with a grim smile. "Lucius liked to lay claim to the Dancing Death, but in truth, the poison belongs not to the Malfoys, but to the Blacks."

The malicious gleam in his mother's eye made the hair on his arms rise. "And as it is a favorite of my family, I'm not the only one who noticed your games."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face. He had been so careful.

He shook his head stubbornly. "He should be dead."

"Yes," she sighed. "But justice rarely favors the just."

Draco chuckled humorlessly. "In what kind of world are we on the side of the just?"

"In this one, apparently."

"Tell me what you know." The anger was clawing at his gut. It was no longer aimed at his mother, but he needed to know. He needed to protect Hermione.

Narcissa sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. "No."

"Tell me what he did to her."

"I won't, and not just because it is a betrayal of Hermione, who would tell you if she wanted you to know." Draco looked away, shamefaced. "But because I don't know everything. I only know what rumors I heard and what I saw the night I healed her. But my mind can illustrate the rest, just as yours can."

Draco thought back to the scar on Hermione's arm, a red, raised line dissecting the slur carved into her flesh by a magic blade.

"She tried to kill herself," he said, the realization sweeping over him.

Narcissa swallowed.

"You healed her."

She didn't respond, determined to keep her silence, but Draco had put the pieces together.

"Thank you." The desire to punish his mother drained away. All that was left were the banked embers of revenge.

"Don't thank me," she swiped her hand angrily through the air. "If the Order had not raided the Manor a few days later, she would have been back in his grasp. There were many times in the intervening hours when I wondered whether I had done the right thing. I know she certainly didn't thank me for saving her." A dark chuckle. "She told me to fuck off."

A sad smile tugged at his mouth. His beautiful dragon warrior.

"Draco," she paused and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were glinting with some unidentifiable emotion. "That monster deserves every moment of pain you bring to him."

* * *

It took two days for Hermione to awaken. The wounds on her belly were mostly healed, and though she was shaky and weak, she managed to get out of bed without collapsing to the floor. After a meal and a bath, she felt almost well again. The long period of rest had done her some good, and after determining that she hadn't completely drained her magical core, she trooped down to the Potter's house in the village for a war council.

While she had been recovering, the army of the Order of the Phoenix had assembled the last of its far-flung soldiers, collected every wand that could be found, and had spent hours arguing over what to do next. Kingsley's death had thrown them into a sea of confusion and uncertainty, with no small amount of blame landing on the doorstep of the former members of the Legion. It took the combined reassurances of Ron, Harry, Ginny and George to keep the six of them out of the dungeons.

Harry was in his bed, his face devoid of color. The center of operations had moved to his bedroom, which had been magically expanded to accommodate several of the Order's highest ranking officers. A long table featured a magically created topographical war map of Hogwarts grounds and the surrounding territory. Hermione stood in the rear of the room with her back against the wall. She had a good view of the map and could listen to the rumble of argument and counterargument.

Hermione had been worried about the vacuum Kingsley death would cause within the Order, but in the aftermath of the failed ritual, Ron had stepped forward and to take the reins. It had been completely accidental, according to Blaise and Theo, but he had done such a good job keeping the peace and organizing the soldiers in the resulting chaos, that it had seemed only natural to look to him for leadership. The former Slytherins had some doubts about his ability to lead, but Hermione wasn't worried at all. When it came to battle, Ron was ruthless and smart.

The Order would do just fine without Kingsley Shacklebolt, she thought to herself.

Though Ron was their new General, it was George who took the spotlight at this meeting, having surprised all of them by demonstrating a keen mind for tactics. He was as good or even better than Ron, and he was far less likely to succumb to his temper. With waxy skin and dark craters under his eyes, George looked haggard but completely sober. The former prankster was almost unrecognizable with his somber demeanor and ever-increasing confidence.

Hermione was glad that he had stopped his self-destructive behavior, and it was a relief to realize she wasn't needed for anything other than using her teeth and claws to destroy Bellatrix. That particular job was hard enough on her nerves, not to mention the fact that it would be difficult to lead from the sky.

It was also an effort to focus when despair was washing over her in waves. One moment, she was calmly discussing the likelihood of a Legion attack, the next, her stomach would cramp, and she would feel a wave of electricity tumble down her arms. There was a space around her, a bubble of safety between her rogue magic and the others in the room. It would not surprise her to discover that they had erected personal wards, just in case. Truthfully, Hermione was surprised at the level of control she was exhibiting. The last time she had been this upset, she had destroyed a tower.

Draco slid into the room, causing a short pause in the conversation. As the rumble resumed, he made a straight line to Hermione, settling next to her against the wall, their shoulders touching.

"How's Pansy?" she whispered.

"She's Pansy." He shrugged, passing a searching glance over her face. "She's sniping at everyone and generally being a bitch."

The panic stole over her again, and she swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. She had allowed Neville to be taken by a monster. They all had. Sparks rolled across her fingers, jumping to the man standing next to her. Draco flinched but didn't move away. Instead, he subtly rested his hand on the small of her back, his thumb moving in small circles. He didn't offer platitudes of comfort or look at her with pity in his eyes. He focused on the conversation in front of him, completely unaware that the touch of his hand had untangled some of the knots in her stomach.

"When was the last time you ate?" he murmured.

Hermione thought back on her day. Breakfast? He didn't wait for her to answer, but instead pulled a small apple from his coat. Before handing it over, he took a bite, consuming nearly half of it in the process. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he shrugged.

"I'm hungry too."

"You're always hungry," she muttered.

He gave her a lopsided grin that made her pulse speed up before returning his attention to the room. Hermione took a bite from the apple and followed suit.

"How can we even be sure where they're located?" Seamus was demanding.

"We can't be sure, but Lovegood landed somewhere outside the wards in the vicinity of Hogsmeade.," George said, indicating the small, abandoned village. "If there's one camp, there's sure to be many surrounding the castle."

"Find anything this morning, Titus?" Harry asked a young scout, his voice strained.

"I didn't see anything, but that doesn't mean they aren't there," Titus replied.

The Animagus was the best scout they could drum up, for in his sparrow form, he could fly through Hogwarts wards with no harm and watch the enemy without being spotted. Unfortunately, he had found nothing on his daily scouting trips. Hermione wasn't surprised. If there had been any holes in the Legion's wards before, they would be fixed now that Luna was among them. The witch had a keen eye for invisibility spells.

"Why are they just waiting?" Cho wondered, scratching idly at her prosthetic leg. "They could have started their attacked days ago and had the wards down by now."

"They have no reason to attack." George's voice was rough with fatigue. "They can wait us out. We've eaten through all of our supplies in preparation for battle, and they've locked us down with Anti-Disapparition Spells. We can use our Portkeys, but it won't be long before they find those locations. We're trapped here. The only way to leave is to fight our way out."

An ominous silence followed his words. Harry met her eyes, and they shared a moment of sad wonder at George's sudden turnaround. As much as she would like to take credit, Hermione wondered what else might have spurred this change in her friend. It seemed impossible for someone to go from passively suicidal to accidental general of the Order of the Phoenix overnight. Perhaps escaping certain death had made him realize how much he valued his life.

"We need to do this right," Ron said. "This is a win or die situation."

"The Legion of Blood is an infection," Hermione said slowly. "It started with blood purists, then came the Death Eaters, and now the Legion has taken over the whole Wizarding World. It's been killing us slowly over the years, but now it's time to fight back."

"If we don't purge every one of Bellatrix's generals, the Legion will just reincarnate once more," Ron added. "Bellatrix especially must be killed."

"We need a way to make sure she's on the battlefield," Oliver said.

"She'll come for me," Hermione announced, her heart thumping. It felt like the evil witch was waiting for her to make a move. "When she does, Draco, Pansy and I will handle her."

"And Lovegood?" Oliver asked.

Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance. More guilt, pricking at her heart. "She's an unexpected problem. Two of them against three of us may be too much."

"She's vulnerable to spells," Draco said. "We may need to take her down with wands."

There were nods all around.

"So what's the plan then?" Harry asked in his deathly quiet voice.

All eyes turned to George, who cleared his throat before sitting up straight, a determined slant to his brow.

"We lure them in," he began, waving his wand over the magically altered table.

Many exhausted hours later, the meeting was over and Hermione lay with Draco in her bed. All of her limbs were buzzing pleasantly and she knew she had a silly grin on her face. Draco was on his belly next to her, one arm slung casually across her stomach and one leg tangled with hers. She tried not to focus on the fact that she was naked, all her scars out in the open. It didn't really matter anyway; there wasn't a single inch of her skin that Draco had yet to explore.

"You okay?" he mumbled into her neck. "I didn't wear you out did I?"

A blush of satisfaction and bashfulness heated her cheeks. The man's arrogance was irritating, but perhaps it was warranted in at least one area.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked more seriously, raising his head. "You kept pretty quiet during the meeting. You didn't once try to make a list."

He was teasing her, but she realized that he was right. Only a few weeks ago, she would have easily stepped in and taken charge. She hadn't felt the obsessive need to organize everything, to keep everything within her grasp and she didn't feel it now. How strange.

"I need to stay focused," she told him.

"You're the most focused person I know," Draco pried. "Except for me, of course."

Hermione was searching her mind, trying to find a reasonable explanation.

"I was trying to do everything," she said slowly. "I needed to be a dragon, and protect George, and save Kingsley. Neville was taken right from under my nose. All these years, I've been holding the Order up on my shoulders and I wasn't paying attention to the monster Luna had become. Five years and I never realized. Or at least, I never wanted to admit what I suspected."

"You can't be responsible for the world."

Hermione nodded.

"Say it," he entreated playfully. "Say 'you were right Draco.'"

A laugh escaped her as he tugged her closer, nibbling at her ear. "You were right, but so was everyone else. I never listened."

"It's not much, but I'll take it," he announced smugly.

Hermione sobered, thinking about what lay ahead.

"I'm going to kill Bellatrix. And if that is the only thing I accomplish, I will have done enough."

The sick feeling returned. It was one big, messy ball of apprehension about the upcoming fight, misery over the probable fate of Neville, terror at the thought of losing Harry, and regret about all the things she hadn't done.

" _We_ are going to kill Bellatrix."

Draco's words instantly calmed the rising fear. She rolled them both over and snuggled on top of him, needing to feel as much of his body as possible. The scent of his skin made her want to purr. She set her ear against his heart. The steady thumping called to her own heartbeat, and the two organs synchronized. She wondered if he felt the same squeezing pain in her chest that she did.

"What is it?" He wrapped his arms around her.

"I thought was ready," she whispered. "To lose them."

"Lose who?"

"All of them. Any of them. I was going to see this until the end, even if I was the last one standing. I'm not ready for this battle."

"Nobody is ever ready for war," he agreed. "But we have the dragons to help us win. Every single soldier in the Order is worth ten Legion soldiers. You're ready."

"My body is ready," she conceded. "It's my heart that's the problem. If wish I could cut it out. Then I wouldn't be so afraid."

"Don't wish for that. Your heart is what makes you different. It makes you . . ." he trailed off shaking his head. He reached up and took a curl between his fingers. _Emotional. Compulsive. Foolhardy._ "You."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fantastic."

"It's a good thing," he laughed gently.

"If you say so." She impulsively pressed a kiss to his breastbone, causing his fingers to tighten on her back. "But I don't think I can completely trust your judgement. I mean, look at that awful tattoo on your arm."

It was meant to be lighthearted, and Draco smiled for a moment before his face sobered.

"Why don't you hate me?" he whispered.

Hermione blinked, startled by the sudden change in his demeanor. She hid her face against his skin and considered.

"I'm not sure." The answer was tangled and confusing. It had something to do with their shared past, and everything he had done for her and the Order. A substantial part of it was also due to how he made her feel and the strange bond they now shared. She was a spinning vortex of pain and dangerous magic, but he walked right into the storm without fear. "But I know I've never hated you."

He grunted in acceptance, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her back. After a moment, she raised herself up so she could look at his face.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

He quirked a platinum eyebrow at her questioningly.

"Everyone else is scared of me and my wild magic. They're worried I'll hurt them or destroy something. But not you. Why not?"

She didn't realize how important the question was to her, or how raw and open it felt, until it left her lips and she was stranded, staring down at him.

"I am afraid of you," he answered with a lopsided grin before turning serious. "You scare the hell out of me."

He wasn't talking about her magic. The words struck her like a blasting spell. Or rather, it was the unspoken words, and the glittering in his eyes as he looked up at her that clogged her throat and made her silent. After a moment, his eyes shuttered, and she knew she had missed an important opportunity. She kissed him instead and reveled in the feel of his short moan against her mouth and his hands bracketing her hips.

"I've never hated you," she repeated. "Even when we were kids, neither of us had much choice. You're the only one -" she hesitated, trying to find words to explain how he had changed her. Words that weren't pathetic, that wouldn't chip away at her remaining pride, "the only one who makes me feel whole again."

She hadn't quite made a declaration, but then again, neither had he. It was impossible to say the words, especially since Hermione couldn't work out exactly what she was feeling. Something was waiting for them, something enormous and profound, but in that moment, Hermione chose to kiss Draco instead, and let her body speak for her.

* * *

George studied the magical hologram of Hogwarts for the hundredth time. The small table in his room made the details hard to work out, but he could watch the battle take place with several possible outcomes. He ran through all of them repeatedly with Ron, grasping for some certainty in the face of terrible odds. His plan would work, he reassured himself. It had to.

The need for a drink was scratching up his insides. The last seven years had been awful, but George knew for a fact that he hadn't felt this kind of fear since before the Battle of Hogwarts. Most of that was due to the steady supply of drugs, alcohol and adrenaline he had consumed to chase away the memory of his brother's death. Keeping away the despair had also succeeded in keeping away the terror. Now he was steeped in it. His pores were sweating fear and doubt.

"You did well, brother mine."

Fred sat in the chair next to the fire and stared at him, unblinking, offering encouragement laced with just enough irony to make George think he wasn't trying to be encouraging at all. The lack of his usual chemically-induced equilibrium also revealed just how fucked up his mind had become. How long had he been talking to his dead brother? A year? Two? Now he was hallucinating a figure who looked and acted like him, and appeared to be very real indeed.

"Go away," George muttered.

George was fairly certain that Fred wasn't a ghost, for he appeared completely solid, even corporeal. If he'd had the nerve, he could reach out and touch the thing sitting in that chair to find out once and for all if his hallucinations had some grounds in reality. He didn't want to know. What if Fred really was sitting there? Would he encounter the same cold flesh he had felt the last time he had embraced his brother, or would Fred be warm and alive?

"Well done," Ron echoed Fred unknowingly. "I think we stand a chance."

"Do we?" George snapped. Bloody hell, he wanted a drink. "We're still vastly outnumbered."

"We'll do okay. It's like you said, we don't have to kill every Legion soldier, they're mostly conscripts anyway. We just have to take out the important ones."

Why was anyone listening to him in the first place? George didn't know a damn thing about troop movements or battle tactics. Except, when he watched the stick figures play out a fight on the Hogwarts table, it had seemed like a puzzle waiting to be put together, the pieces so obviously meant for each other. He hadn't been able to stay quiet. Now he was chiefly responsible for the fate of the Wizarding World whether they won or lost.

"Do they know they're following the advice of a drug addict?" Fred giggled, enunciating George's thoughts.

"Just shut up!" George pleaded. He realized he had been speaking out loud when Ron reared back, his face turning red. "I didn't mean that. Sorry, mate, I'm just bloody tired."

"You alright, George?" Ron asked, his eyes worried.

George wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry.

"I'll be fine."

"No you won't," Fred sang. "I'm here for you George, but you just won't listen to me."

A chill went down his spine. He turned his back on his dead brother and tried to focus on the one who still had blood pumping in his veins.

Suddenly, the door to George's room slammed open and Seamus burst through, breathing heavily.

"The centaurs," he gasped. "They appeared at the edge of the Forest. The want to talk to Hermione."

Ron and George exchanged an excited look. Maybe things weren't as dire as they appeared.

* * *

 _A/N: I love you guys!_


	22. To March Into Battle

_A/N: SOOOOOOOO it's been awhile. Sorry guys. These last few chapters are beating me up and mostly because I don't want to let you guys down and deliver a crappy ending. So here is the first of probably three more chapters. The battle will be split into two chapters I'm thinking, just based on what I've written so far, followed by an epilogue._

 _As always, muchas gracias to my beta i was botwp for the amazing work._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: To March Into Battle

May 2005

Malfoy Manor

 _His mother had started a tea service of all things, declaring with a sniff that committing treason was not reason enough to break tradition. The women settled in the sitting area of Lucius's old study, talking quietly and sipping from their fine china. After a moment, Blaise and Theo joined them, all too willing to partake of biscuits and tiny sandwiches assembled at the tip of Narcissa's wand. Draco rolled his eyes and stood by the window, anxiety roiling in his gut._

 _The Manor wards tugged at him, telling him someone had arrived at the gates. Something in his mind slithered to life, sniffing at the air, shaking in anticipation. It was a startling sensation, and he shook his head to clear it. There was something odd about his instincts since his transformation only days before. They were sharper, more aggressive, less controllable. He leaned his forehead against the glass and squinted at the front gates. A group of four people melted out from the cover of the trees. They were here._

 _His eyes zeroed in on the woman in front. She was rather small, dressed as a Muggle soldier, with a fuzzy halo of dark hair. She moved like a predator, her wand an extension of her arm. Even from a distance, he could see the wheels and cogs turning in her head. When she encountered the ward at the gate, he caught the small stomp of her foot and the way her nose headed straight toward the sky with impatience._

 _The Order had sent Hermione Fucking Granger._

 _And for some reason, Draco was grinning._

* * *

Luna scratched at the wound on her ankle. The bite from that venomous bitch had translated into Luna's human form in the way of a snake bite. A large, swollen, festering wound that seeped and burned like Fiendfyre. The Healer had managed to close the wound briefly before it reopened, weeping and hot to the touch. Nothing could completely draw the poison from her body except for time. For now, the venom settled into her blood and her bones, making her sweaty and sore.

She was lucky, the Healer had said, that the purple dragon had hung on for such a short period. A full dose of the potent venom would most certainly have killed her. A limp and fever were nothing in comparison. Luna wanted to choke that fucking idiot with his red, silk scarf. It wouldn't hamper her ability to fly, however, and for that, she was grateful.

 _Revenge, retribution, requital._

Longbottom was holding up quite well. He lay on the ground in a puddle of piss, his limbs shaking and spasming. It had been hours of torture, and still, he maintained his silence. Bellatrix was in her element, her gray-streaked hair wild and her eyes black with pleasure. Her wand barely moved as she cursed the man again and again. Instead of draining her power, the Unforgivable Curse seemed to make her stronger and more alive. Only the silence from her victim was causing her any grief.

Alecto was enamored of the entertainment. She watched raptly as the wizard spasmed and howled. Every now and then, she would caress the knife on her hip as if it were an old lover. Luna knew she ached to use it. While she was an expert at the cruciatus, blade-work was her true passion, one she had passed on to Luna.

Luna was bored.

"You should take a turn, my love," Alecto offered. "Perhaps your blade will work better."

Luna paused in the act of skinning her apple. The offer held no appeal. She decided her reluctance was because of the pain in her leg, and the effort it would take to do the job properly. There was a buzzing in her ears like something thunderous buried beneath layers of stone and mortar. It was like the sound of a Quidditch game from the Ravenclaw common room or like the screams of prisoners in dungeons beneath the ground. She twitched and resisted the urge to scratch her leg.

"You're wasting your time. He won't be broken," Luna answered without getting up, idly turning the piece of fruit in her hands. "Especially not with my knives."

"Anyone can be broken," Alecto snapped.

Luna shrugged, frustration simmering in her belly. "He can't. And the _cruciatus_ you're using won't do it either. You'll lose his mind to madness before he gives in."

"But there is a great pleasure in turning a man's mind to pudding," Bellatrix purred. "I did it to the rat's parents; I could do it to him."

"I don't know why you bother," Luna yawned. "He doesn't know anything more than I do."

The tent flap swung open and Lucius slid inside.

"We must pause our entertainments" Lucius said regretfully. "We can spare no more time on pleasurable pursuits. There is work to be done."

* * *

The _cruciatus_ was a kind of pain that one never forgets, and Neville had withstood the torture before. He had felt afraid when the flap to his prison tent opened, but ready. Deep in his Gryffindor heart, Neville knew he could withstand whatever they would throw at him. He had been wrong. Perhaps the Carrows had gone easy on them as children, or perhaps Alecto and Bellatrix had sharpened their technique with time and free reign to use it, but after only a few hours he wished his spine would finally snap and end the torture.

Worse than the pain was the knowledge that he was losing himself. Pieces of his mind were slipping away. The structure of his heart, the basis of what made him Neville Longbottom, was crumbling, blowing into the darkness on the cold winds of agony. All that was left were fragments of light scattered around his mind like a shattered mirror.

He remembered an old woman's hands and the way the thin skin stretched over the bones, making them look fragile when they had once held all the strength of his small world. There was a sword, a hat, and a deep terror. He remembered a boy with dark hair and spectacles, a strange scar on his forehead and how all his hopes had once rested on those thin shoulders. A world of green, with shiny leaves, furry fronds, and enough magic to fill the hole in his heart. A witch with a halo of curly hair and power enough to level the world.

There was a girl. He remembered her hair and the silky way it moved across his skin, the way it would reflect the light in brilliant sparks of color. Her elegant fingers dark with dirt, her perfect skin freckling in the sun. The way her mouth snarled until she smiled, cutting into his chest all the way through to his heart. A mundane purple flower, as delicate as lace and yet able to withstand both the frost of winter and the heat of summer.

He clung to the memories, nonsensical in individual scraps but when assembled created the abstract picture of a life he had once led. Before the pain. Before the fear. Before each swipe of a wand erased more of who he used to be. Would anything be left of him before the last of his life force was siphoned away?

* * *

Pansy had to rouse herself from her bed when the centaurs appeared. She had been staring at the crack in her ceiling for what felt like years when Blaise tapped on her door.

He crawled into bed next to her and pushed his nose against the side of her face.

"You're going to have to get up eventually."

She ignored him. Obviously, she would have to get up. She couldn't very well slaughter hundreds of Legion enemies in revenge if she was flat on her back. The purple dragon in the back of her mind was howling and spitting, ready to tear holes in the flesh of her enemies. But it wasn't time yet. Not yet. For now, she wanted to float in her world of pain and loss.

Bellatrix was torturing him. She could feel it. It was like a buzz along her spine, sending bright sparks of agony down to her fingers and toes. The dragon had opened a channel between them, allowing her to witness his pain, if only distantly. She followed every line of hurt, grabbing at the sensation and making it her own. Maybe it was helping him. Maybe if she took as much pain as she could from him, he would survive.

"You're leaking on me."

"Then go away."

Blaise reached out a thumb and swiped at the line of moisture on her temple.

"Is it time?" she snapped, tired of his company.

"It's starting," he affirmed. "The enemy is in position and the centaurs have joined us."

Pansy remembered the sight of Neville when he had faced off against Firenze, his shoulders thrown back in outrage as he delivered the beast a resounding set down.

If we fall, you're next.

His words had made an impact. An entire clan of centaurs fighting might just turn the tide of this battle. Something stirred in her. Pride. The possessive spark flickered to life, tugging at her mouth. It wasn't a smile. There wasn't enough joy left for a smile, but it was something.

Her body was so heavy; it was a wonder she hadn't sunk right through the bed. She allowed Blaise to pull on her arms until she sat upright. The skin on her face felt stretched and tight. She wondered if it was transparent, and everyone would be able to see the pulsing ache inside her.

Her usual mask was gone, for Blaise took a look at her and shook his head. "Don your armor, love. It's going to be a long night."

"Don't worry," she responded, hardening her heart. "I'm ready to fight."

* * *

The troops were in place, and Hogwarts was eerily silent as if the castle was holding its breath. There was a random cough, a rustle of clothing, a shuffle of centaur hooves. The tiny sounds carried to Hermione's ears as if it were next to her. In fact, the noise was quite distant. Hermione felt alone and exposed as she stood with Draco in the middle of what was once a thriving crop of wheat, the castle behind them.

Hermione was scanning the wards, looking for weaknesses. There were none, of course, but she felt the need to check and recheck. They needed to hold until she was ready to take them down. Timing was crucial, and Hermione would leave nothing to chance.

She banished the atmospheric charm, choosing instead to focus on the protections built into the magical barrier. Almost instantly, the ground was covered in a thick mist, as the air grew cold. The sky was clear, but Hermione could see a dark wall of clouds headed towards the castle. It looked like rain.

"I hate fighting in the rain," Draco muttered, echoing her thoughts. "I loathe muddy battles."

He uttered the complaint in the classic Pureblood drawl; his arms crossed negligently as if the upcoming fight was an inconvenience at best. He was the epitome of Draco Malfoy, the man who had sneered at her in the kitchen of the safe house so many weeks ago. He had traded in his muggles clothes for the spotless, tailored robes he had been wearing when she pulled him from his burning castle. The morning light glinted off his slicked-back hair and polished shoes.

Ron and Seamus had flung laughing insults at him earlier in the morning, to all of which he had responded with cold derision. To many others, it appeared as if he was bored with the impending violence, but Hermione could see the strain beneath the diamond veneer. He had shrugged on the persona like battle gear, just as Hermione had when she had strapped knives around her waist and into her boot tops. A part of her wanted to cling to him, to bury her face against his warm chest and inhale the scent that gave her such peace, but the hardened soldier recoiled.

"Good thing you'll be in the sky," she mentioned.

"Who knows how things will go," he made a disgusted sound. "And mud always finds a way."

She bumped his shoulder and gave him a small smile. "We'll make sure the next battle is on a nice, sunny beach."

"Excellent." He adjusted his cuffs nonchalantly.

"Wouldn't want you getting dirt on your shiny shoes."

"My shoes are charmed," he said with a straight face. "It's my hair I'm worried about."

Hermione laughed loudly, enjoying the small, answering smile that tucked in the corner of his mouth. Impulsively, she pulled his face down and pressed her mouth to that intrepid curve, soaking up the feeling of his arms tightening around her, and the synchronized pleasure of their dragons vibrating through her bones.

"We have company," he whispered against her temple.

Two figures had appeared at the edge of the castle.

"Who is that?" she wondered. Everyone should be in place by now, not wandering around. Draco squinted at them for a moment before turning back to her, blood draining from his face.

"What is it?"

He shook his head, the muscle on his jaw ticking. Gripping her wand, Hermione blinked at Draco suspiciously. He stepped away, looking anywhere but at her.

One person was easily identifiable with long, red hair and a ground-eating stride. The other seemed a stranger, but still lit a spark of familiarity. There was something in the cadence of his feet, in the way he had his hands stuffed in his pockets, the tip of a wand peeking out from behind his back. Memory tugged at her. She blinked. It wasn't possible. She shook her head. But who the hell else would put his wand in his back pocket? She hadn't seen anyone do such a stupid thing in years, not since . . .

The weak morning light glinted off a pair of round spectacles, and her heart jumped into her throat.

 _Harry_.

Her feet were moving before she realized it.

"Harry?" she shrieked before throwing herself into his arms.

"Bloody hell," Harry gasped as he staggered.

"Harry," she repeated. "Harry."

Something was wrong. Harry couldn't walk, much less wrap his arms around her. He was thin. This couldn't possibly be real. Both his eyes looked at her, bright and unclouded, his smile symmetrical and sunny. A deep fear settled in her chest. Her dragon senses opened wide, and she could feel the slight rattle in his chest, the strong, yet strained beating of his heart, and a sweet scent under his skin that she couldn't place.

"H-How?" she stuttered, looking around for an explanation.

Ginny stood next to Draco, her arms crossed, her gaze on the ground. There were tears on her cheeks, her face soft with both happiness and grief.

"It's not permanent," Harry murmured. "I've not been cured."

Draco shuffled uncomfortably. The link that had been such a comfort moments before now clouded with guilt. What did he have to do with this?

"In fact," Harry continued. "It's a bit of the opposite."

Harry looked at Draco and the two seemed to be silently communicating. A sharp pain lanced through her heart as her suspicion grew.

"What the fuck is going on?" she demanded.

"It's poison," Draco said lowly.

"Subtle," Harry muttered with a wince.

"Gryffindor courage at its best," Draco mocked.

"Poison?" Her head was foggy. "You've been poisoned, Harry?"

"It's an old favorite of Malfoy's family," Harry chuckled sadly. "He thought it might help me face the fight standing up, like a proper wizard. Slipped it in my tea."

It was Draco's turn to wince.

"But," Harry quickly amended. "He didn't actually poison me since I was a willing victim."

"Fuck's sake, Scarhead," Draco muttered.

"You're both arseholes," Ginny spat. Harry took hold of her arm and pulled her close. She tucked her head into his neck and closed her eyes.

Hermione felt like she was running in sand, trying to catch up with something everyone else already understood. She was frantically thumbing through every scrap of knowledge she possessed about poisons. The name squatted like a black toad in the back of her mind, and she swallowed hard.

"Dancing Death?" she choked out.

The red haze of rage almost blinded her. Harry's eyes widened, and he pushed Ginny away just in time to ward off Hermione's assault.

"Harry. James. Potter," she gritted out, punctuating every word with a blow. "You. Stupid. Git."

"Ow!" Harry protested, trying to shield his torso. "Oy, 'Mione!"

She ignored him.

"I told you," Ginny offered from several feet away.

Bolts of pure energy were leaping from her hands to his skin, making his already unruly hair stand straight on end.

"You also already trounced me this morning," he called to Ginny over Hermione's pummeling fists. "I've got bruises on top of bruises. Oy, watch the face!"

Draco had moved closer, ready to pull her away if needed. She glared at him before ceasing her attack and taking a step back. Almost immediately, she turned around and came back, arms crossed and coming to a stop next to Ginny. Harry and Draco both flinched, somehow now standing shoulder to shoulder. It appeared to be a face-off, two wizards who had conspired together to end the life of the Chosen One against the women who so objected to their collusion.

Hermione tapped her foot expectantly, unable to speak past the knot in her throat.

"I was dying anyway," Harry began.

The red haze was back.

"I had days at most," he continued, hands up in defeat. "Hours."

"So you decided to speed up the process?" she shrieked.

She knew she was losing it. The rational side of her brain was urging her to calm down and see the logic in Harry's actions before she accidentally called a blizzard from the sky or sent the stones of Hogwarts tumbling to the ground. The Dragon quite liked both those ideas.

"He only had a few days left," Draco repeated.

"You don't get to speak!" she snarled.

He snapped his mouth closed. Hermione took a shallow breath and pressed it out between her lips. She felt Ginny's fingers wrap around her own and it made her heart cease its speeding long enough for her to form coherent words in a normal tone of voice.

"How long?" she demanded.

"A few hours," Draco answered, while Harry said, "Long enough."

They exchanged another glance. It was infuriating.

"So you both planned this between yourselves?"

"That's exactly what they did." Without releasing Hermione, Ginny tucked her wand under her arm as if the action might keep her from using it.

"You're not helping, love," Harry begged.

"I'm not trying to help," she shot back with a feral grin. Bright, burning pain was shining out of her eyes.

"Oh," Harry said. "Carry on then."

"I just might!" Ginny countered.

"Whatever makes you happy, dearest."

It sounded like he was teasing her, but there was sincerity in his eyes. He would take another beating if it made his wife feel better. Hermione hoped Ginny would ask her to do it. Instead, Ginny shook her head in frustration and turned to Hermione.

"I'm needed at the front," she said. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't kill him."

"There's still time," Hermione grumbled.

"I never thought I'd say this, but behave yourself." Ginny glared at her. "He's still the Chosen One after all. We might need him."

Hermione shrugged, noncommittally. She wasn't going to kill him, but they both knew he deserved a proper thrashing. Understanding passed between the two women, and Ginny leaned over and bussed Hermione on the cheek.

"Be safe," she whispered before slinging her broom over her shoulder and walking away. They had already said their goodbyes, but Hermione found her gaze lingering on Ginny's back, the woman more like a sister than a friend. Her stride was strong, her shoulders straight, but there was a heaviness in her step. It was the same weight tugging on Hermione's heart.

She realized she wasn't angry about Harry's choice to ingest the Dancing Death. It was very likely that Harry would not have seen the end of the battle either way. It was the way he conspired to do it with a man he had hated until very recently, keeping Hermione in the dark. Her reaction was entirely selfish, she realized.

Harry stood with his old slouch; hands shoved in his pockets. The guilty tilt to his head was so familiar it made her ache. Like a schoolboy admitting he had broken into the restricted section of the library.

"Harry." The one word was weighted down with grief.

"Don't be so sad," Harry laughed. "I made love to my wife this morning for the first time in a year. I'm going to ride my broom without being magically attached to it," he inclined his head towards Draco, "and now I get to lead my people to victory and end this forever."

The only words that came to mind were angry, so Hermione hugged herself and turned away. She needed a moment to process everything. She heard Harry sigh.

"You went way off script," Draco whispered.

"She didn't incinerate me," Harry argued. "So it already went better than we thought."

There was silence for a few moments while they waited for her to act. She stared at the dirt beneath her feet without seeing it. Her mind was a jumble. She needed a moment to get herself in order.

"Well, I guess it's time to go."

Hermione turned back at Harry's words, in time to see the two awkwardly facing each other.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said, offering his hand. "I know you've always been jealous of me, but don't go dying as well just to prove something."

"Sod off," Draco growled as he simultaneously pulled Harry into a stiff hug, slapping him on the back. He muttered something into Harry's ear, causing the man to throw back his head and laugh.

"Well played, Ferret," he chuckled.

Hermione gave up. She stalked back to Harry and pulled him close again, something she hadn't been able to do in months. He hugged her tight, as if he could put all the pieces of her back together.

"Don't say goodbye," she pleaded.

He sighed, and she could feel the pain hiding behind his laughing face.

"There's no such thing," he answered gravely. "I've seen the other side. I'll be waiting for you. And Gin and Ron."

Grief was a choking her. So many friends had deserved her tears over the passing years, but she'd had none for any of them. They had dried up so long ago; it was difficult to remember what it felt like to cry. If ever there was a time to rail against the fates, it would be at this moment, for Harry and the future that had been stolen from him. Her cheeks remained dry, however, and she hated herself for it.

"I'm going to miss you," she whispered.

Harry scoffed, setting her away from him, his face smiling again. "'Course you are."

"Prat," she accused.

He began to back away from her.

"Give 'em hell," he ordered laughingly as he picked up his pace, getting further from her.

Hermione swallowed, unable to speak. He turned away, one hand in his pocket, the other on his Nimbus. Suddenly, Hermione was thrown back in time to a moment when a messy haired boy had walked toward his first Quidditch game, scared to death but smiling recklessly. She hadn't known then how this boy would become essential to her existence, sewn into the very walls of her heart.

"I love you, Harry Potter," she called after him, her voice cracking only a little.

"Love you too, 'Mione." His voice was faint as he faded into the mist.

* * *

"Be ready when the wards drop," Ron said.

"We've got it," Blaise growled. "You don't have to say it every five minutes."

The small group of witches and wizards milled about, waiting for the signal. Only Narcissa Malfoy and Zabini were able to keep still, apparently unaffected by nerves. Ron was pacing in small circles, muttering to himself and repeating orders compulsively. Mostly, the group was silent, waiting out the tension with a stiff upper lip and ready wands. There was a deep sense of hope within the ranks, restored when Harry Potter had walked out of his house under his own steam.

It was widely known that the Chosen One was beyond help. No magic on earth could bring him back to working order. There had been some speculation about his role in the battle; there had even been a rumor that he wanted to be tied to his broom. Now he would be flying to the front lines on his own, and it was no less than a miracle. He had taken the form of a mythical, resurrected God, and the soldiers of Hogwarts felt his presence deeply.

Ron, in particular, had transcended into hope. George threw his arm around his little brother, affection welling inside him. When had the little git gotten so large? George noticed a pale scar nearly bisecting his face. It looked old, but George had never seen it before. How many years had he spent at the bottom of a potions flask while the world moved forward and fought without him? Too many.

It was too bad he wouldn't survive to see the end, win or lose.

"That's the spirit."

Fred lounged against a nearby tree, eyes bright in his pale face. He seemed so real. But his voice echoed only in George's head, and nobody else looked his way. Going insane was a bit scary. Even in the face of a looming battle and almost certain death, the thought of losing his mind was frightening, and on this occasion, there was no potion to help blur the edges of his awareness. He didn't need it, he told himself. The last bits of his sanity weren't all that important as long as he could complete his mission.

Indeed, tonight would be different. Excitement jittered in his belly. He was ready. His head was clear of drugs, his courage was up, and he wanted to do battle. Fierce, bloody battle. He would fight back until his last breath left him, down to the dregs of his magical power. And when his spirit left his body, he wouldn't be alone as he had been for so many years. Freddie would be there to take him home.

"Now you've got it, Georgie. I'm here for you."

 _I'm ready_ , George answered.

* * *

Keeping centaurs hidden was harder than it sounded.

After centuries of hiding in the Forbidden Forest, one could assume the magical beasts were quite good at staying out of sight. After all, before the war there were very few people who had even glimpsed a centaur, much less spoken to one. As it happened, centaurs were noisy, impatient and proud. They shuffled about and snapped their tails, and snuffled a bit like a real horse. They chafed at the waiting, barely containing their frenetic energy.

The plan was very clear, but for the centaurs, hiding in the shadows was cowardly, and it chafed at their stiff sense of honor. Following humans only made it worse. Theo could feel their derision. He was happy Firenze had not revealed Theo's past as a Death Eater sympathizer, nor his more recent history as a Legionnaire. His former Divination teacher merely stared at him with knowing eyes.

"This is no way to do battle," Helgerian muttered under his breath.

"We need to stay out of sight until just the right time," Cho Chang snapped.

"Peace, my King," Firenze offered quietly. "You will have your opportunity for violence."

"So you have said, Reader of the Stars," Helgerian grumbled.

Theo felt alone. Chang and Oliver Wood spoke quietly not far away. They were the only humans present, and obviously did not consider him to be a part of their team beyond his usefulness with a wand. He didn't blame them. The heavy gold Dragon Rampant pin he had worn for years made him the enemy. Though he had discarded it the day they left the Muggle safehouse, he still felt the weight of it on his breast.

He and Blaise had said their goodbyes the night before. Now as he was waiting to fight, the adrenaline rising in his blood, a small kernel of fear had lodged itself in his heart. Blaise was a strong wizard, but he was no soldier. They had always fought together, from the day Bellatrix had risen from the dead and ended the world. Theo had stood as Blaise's shield; and Blaise as Theo's heart. It felt entirely wrong to be without him.

"You possess a steadfast nature that is surprising in a human."

Firenze had moved closer, his human half serene, but his beastly half twitching with anticipation. He had been taught his whole life that half-breeds were filthy, vile creatures. While for Theo, maturity had brought a better understanding of the world, it was still odd to find himself speaking with a creature he would gladly have killed not a decade past.

"You seem ready to fight, as well," Theo admitted.

"We have longed for a good war," Firenze told him. "It is in our nature to fight. Instead, we hide. It is shameful. Better to die."

"Are you going to die then?" Theo asked, curious.

Firenze shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Don't you know how this will end?"

He tilted his head, his bright eyes piercing. "For some. Not for others."

"Some aren't important enough to have their stories told in the stars," Theo concluded, irritated.

"The stars tell every story," Firenze corrected with a grin that could only be called impertinent. "But not every story is important enough to read."

Theo chuckled.

"Are you prepared for battle, scion of House Nott?"

The question resonated with Theo. Of course, he was ready to fight. It was something he did well, after all. He wasn't ready to face a life without Blaise. He swallowed hard, the seed of fear sprouting like a vine and curling around his heart. With eyes closed, he imagined the end of this bloody war, and taking Blaise in his arms, safe in the knowledge they would never again have to go into battle.

"I've been ready for this for years," Theo answered honestly, his heart aching.

* * *

The wind yanked at Draco's hair as he peered over the edge of the astronomy tower roof. It was always windy in this damned tower. The structure stood so high he felt like the thing had its own atmosphere. It was the stuff of Draco's nightmares. He had failed once before in this very spot, neither killing his enemy nor taking a stand against the evil trying to infect the world. The threat of a repeat performance tugged at him.

This time was different. He had her.

Hermione was leaning against a turret, turning a Muggle cigarette box against her thigh as she stared out over Hogwarts grounds. The soft paper crunched as she shuffled a white stick out into her fingers. Without really paying attention, she tapped it against the back of her hand - one, two, three times - before slipping it between her lips. A touch of her wand and it was glowing slightly. She inhaled, then blew the smoke out the side of her mouth.

Her absent-minded actions reminded him of the first time he had truly touched her, the moment he had decided to give into the ranting desire of his dragon, the night he realized he had wanted her for ages. He thought about the way her body had responded to his hands and the way her eyes had stripped him naked, right down to his soul. It had been the same every time since, much to his surprise. Rarely had he ever wanted a woman more than once or twice.

Of course, Hermione would be the exception. The damn woman had haunted him for years, a simple, innocent act of kindness enough to capture his attention and loyalty. He should have known that the moment she shared her body - and perhaps her heart? - with him, he would want her forever. Not only did he still want her, he craved her. The need to be close to her was as necessary and natural as taking a breath.

For a moment, he was tempted to pluck the cigarette from her fingers, press her up against the stones, and forget about the impending battle for a few moments. The idea was absurd, of course. They were both prepared to fight, she bristling with knives, and he adorned in his old Death Eater robes. There was a palpable vibration in her very skin, and tiny sparks still showered from the tips of her curls. He was almost positive she would not appreciate that kind of distraction. She'd probably set his hair on fire for the attempt, he thought with a smile.

"What are you grinning about?"

The question tumbled from her mouth with a cloud of smoke. She expected an answer as if one simple sentence could encompass all the reasons she had given him for smiling. Words came easily when they were meant to be cruel, but for Draco, speaking with sincerity was nearly as painful as the Dragon Pox, and just as humiliating. In truth, there was nothing he could say that would do either of them any good. So, he shrugged as he had always done before when she asked him simple questions that had too many answers.

She shook her head at him and finished off her cigarette, crushing it beneath her shoe.

"Well that didn't help at all," she complained, fiddling with the hilt of the huge blade strapped to her waist.

Draco had known from the beginning that his odds of survival were slim, and he had always thought he would face the end as he always had before, with weak knees and a burning pit in his stomach. Instead, he found himself chuckling softly at the warrior goddess in front of him, so ignorant of all the ways she had made him a better man. Perhaps he had done something right in his short, useless life to earn him a place next to her on the battlefield.

"Where the hell is Pansy?" she muttered.

He shook off his reverie and moved closer. "She likes to be fashionably late," he told her. "But she'll be here."

As he came to stand beside her, he noticed that she shuffled away, putting a bit more space between them.

"Are you angry with me?" The question had been eating away at the back of his mind since Harry had sauntered away from them some time before. Damn that fucking prick. The wizard had skipped off to meet his end as if he were going to the fair, leaving Draco to face the backlash. Did nothing scare him?

"No!" she answered quickly, turning to look at him. "I was quite put out at first. But I get it. I don't blame you."

"Really?" He took a step toward her and watched her recoil again, the motion striking him like a sword. He saw the moment she realized what she was doing. Guilt crossed her face.

"I promise I'm not angry." She held up her hands, dancing with magic. "I'm sparking," she said ruefully. "I don't want to hurt you."

The Dragon scoffed. _Pull her closer_ , he whispered. _She is yours._

"You're sparking because of what I did," he insisted. She had to be enraged still. He had betrayed her trust. Killed her best friend.

Her brown eyes studied him for a moment.

"He walked away," she said simply. "He was walking to his death, but he _walked_."

She was smiling even as fiery motes of grief rolled across her fingers. He tangled his hands with hers, wanting to take some of the pain from her.

"I knew almost immediately that I couldn't counter the curse. I kept at it for years, hoping there was something I was missing, some miracle cure I would suddenly stumble upon in a book I'd read a hundred times. It took me much longer to admit it was killing him.

"I watched him waste away. My best friend, the only person who was strong enough to face Voldemort alone, who would have died over and over again for us. He accepted he was going to die long before I did. All he wanted was to see the war end. You gave that to him, something I couldn't. I can't thank you enough."

It was too much to swallow. There was no way this woman was simply going to accept the death of her friend at Draco's hand.

"You can't possibly feel so serene."

"I don't think it's serenity I'm feeling. It's more than that."

The wheels were turning in her head as she sought the right word. Of course she would analyze it to death.

"In fact, I feel. . ." she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Hopeful. All because of you."

The dragon howled in victory. Draco struggled with the urge to do the same. Instead, he put on his best Pureblood mask and sneered.

"I see all that hope. You're practically dripping with it." He curled his lip, hoping it would make her laugh. It did, and she threw her arms around his neck.

"Well, don't get it all over me," he objected, even as he pulled her close. Oh, the scent of her. He wanted to bury himself in it like a down quilt.

"I wish we had more time," she whispered.

His heart sped up. Perhaps now was the time for confessions? He tightened his hold on her.

Pansy chose that moment to arrive, slamming the door to the roof on her way.

"Are we doing this or not?" she demanded.

"You're late," Draco growled, releasing Hermione.

Pansy stalked across the roof towards them, her long hair blowing in the wind.

"I'm here now, so shall we get started?" She was all impatience as if she had been the one kept waiting for nearly an hour.

"Yes," Hermione responded sweetly. "Now that you've decided to bless us with your presence, I suppose we can begin the most important battle in wizarding history."

If Hermione was looking for an apology, she got nothing but silence.

Pansy widened her eyes expectantly and made a shooing motion. "Well, then?"

Energy crackled against the wards overhead, causing an umbrella of white light to cascade across the surface of the magical dome. The Legion had begun their attack. It was time.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked him.

Again with the cosmic questions to which he had no simple answers. She stood with her shoulders back, her limbs loose and agile. Her gaze focused on the ground, on the sight of the enemy appearing from behind the trees. Pure power crackled down across her skin and sparked through her hair. A predatory grin tugged at her lips.

She was a warrior witch, a goddess among mortals, and Draco was ready to lay down his life for her. He was ready to pull on his scales like the strongest armor and tear through the ranks of any army wishing her harm. He was ready to fly away with her, to find somewhere he could protect her from every enemy. Most terrifying of all, he was ready for what came after, should they both come out of this hopeless endeavor alive. He was ready to make Hermione Granger his in every possible way.

Instead of staggering beneath the weight of his epiphanies or falling to his knees at her feet, he squared his shoulders and nodded.

"Ready."

* * *

The wards shimmered with white light. High above them, among the castle battlements, a blue dragon rose up on her hind legs and spread her wings, letting loose a roar that shook the trees. Ginny craned her neck, wincing at the noise, as did every other soldier on the ground. The form of a massive winged beast blotted out the sun and sent a shadow slithering across the ground, carrying dread with it. The Black Dragon had appeared.

Harry couldn't look away from his wife, from the line of her neck, the sleek fall of her red hair.

"Ready?" he asked.

Ginny gave him a reckless grin, her eyes blazing with a familiar look. "Ready."

It was the same look she'd had before she kissed him for the first time all those years ago. He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, or the need to press his lips to hers one last time. She clutched at the back of his shirt, her mouth desperate. When they parted her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. They stepped away from each other, gazes locked. The last of the wards fell, and they turned to face the enemy together.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorrynotsorry_


	23. To Lead the Charge

_A/N: The bad news is: I had to split the battle into two chapters. The good news is: they're both finished. One more chapter and this is all over!_

 _As always, a HUGE thank you to i was botwp for the advice and encouragement!_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: To Lead the Charge

May 2005

Ruins of Malfoy Manor

 _Lucius stood next to her, mumbling and waving his wand about as if it would do any good. Did he think she wouldn't be able to feel it, if it were indeed buried in these ruins? Rodolphos stumbled around among the burnt timbers, the singed pages of destroyed books swirling around in the breeze. Both of them were complete imbeciles._

" _It's not here," she ground out._

 _They must have seen something in her face, for the in next moment, both of them had Disapparated. Bellatrix slid into her alternate form and wreaked hell and flames on the last of the Malfoy's ancestral home._

 _The girl was an aberration. No witch with such filthy blood should be able to accomplish so much. The last of the Order was hidden away at that fucking school, once again made Unplottable and invisible by the mudblood. Shacklebolt was the official leader, but Bellatrix knew from whence the real power came._

 _There was something inside the girl, something that terrified Bellatrix down to her bones. She had seen it in the girl's eyes the night she had branded her as muddy filth and later, as she had tried to break her mind with Unforgivable Curses. It had been enough to seduce poor, unstable Dolphie. And now it appeared she had turned Cissy and Draco as well, her baby sister fleeing into the enemy camp with Bellatrix's most precious possession._

 _Truth and fantasy were hard to separate, but Bellatrix knew the witch was a threat. She whined. Everyone wanted Hermione Granger. Voldemort had wanted her too, she was sure of it. Had she been at Azkaban? Laughing at her as those soulless creatures sucked away her sanity? It was all her fault._

 _Destroy her._

 _Rage was consuming her. Bellatrix could feel it trembling through her muscles and across the thin skin of her wings. The filthy excuse for a witch would die, but first, Bellatrix would take away everything she loved._

* * *

Battle was a strange thing. The possibility of death drove fear into even the strongest hearts. Hermione armored herself against fear by being prepared. She planned; she studied; she practiced, and it gave her the strength to see death on the horizon and still move towards it.

This day was different. For the first time since she battled Death Eaters in school, Hermione felt unprepared. Her new body was strange. They had a plan, to be sure, but it was flimsy. If she were to calculate the odds of succeeding - a thing which Draco had forbidden her from attempting - she knew she would be disappointed.

Bellatrix was circling the castle, waiting for a way inside, attempting to terrify the Order with her fiery breath and massive wings. Hermione felt her dragon's lungs fill like bellows, bringing the scent of grass and dirt, water and stone, fear and sweat. She released it on a roar.

 _Come on, you bitch._

The wards fell. The Black Dragon swooped low overhead, spitting a burst of fire in their direction, but seemingly in no hurry to attack. The three of them scattered, taking to wing as they tried to keep her in their line of sight. Bellatrix huffed in amusement.

As she passed them, Hermione looked up. The wind from her passing rattled across Hermione's scales, causing the spines on her back to rise in fear. The danger was palpable, clattering in her bones. Bellatrix was a huge dragon, more of a dragon than Hermione could hope to be, but with her reptilian eyes, Hermione could see the woman underneath.

It was like taking a _bombarda_ head on. Rage speared through her followed closely by a familiar, slimy worm of shame wriggling in her gut. The cackling witch had tortured her for hours. Tortured her until she begged for mercy, before returning her to the locked room containing a scratchy silk bedspread and all her nightmares. When she and Rodolphos had stripped away her freedom, her magic, her pride and her self-respect, they had gone even further until they'd taken away her hope.

A whisper of wings and a slide of scales and Draco was there. He circled her once, his wing tips caressing the skin under her own wing before coming to a stop in front of her, hovering gently. She could feel his thoughts brush against hers.

 _Get it together, Granger._

His face was all bones and sinew, but somehow she could picture a single platinum eyebrow lifted over his slitted gray eye.

 _Prat_ , she grumbled back.

He butted against her neck, twining around her and wiping away the last of her fear. With eyes closed and wings keeping her afloat, Hermione drank in the feeling of his body near hers. Compassion, strength, and affection all flowed across their connection. Hermione caught sight of the bruise-like stain on Draco's arm, the smudged reflection of his dark past. They both had scars, and somehow, she felt like his scars were hers, and that hers belonged to him as well.

 _Mine_.

Pansy's warning yelp was the only warning they had before Bellatrix attacked.

Bellatrix was all roaring great flames and gnashing teeth, whipping the air around her into a frenzy with her massive wings. She dove for Hermione, who canted abruptly, pressing her wings against her side and diving towards the ground. A moment before impact, her arms unfurled, catching the wind on the stretched skin and she was carried back upwards with great, heaving thrusts.

Another attack, another dodge. They couldn't get close enough to land a blow. As she passed, Hermione felt the hot breath of Bellatrix's open mouth scald the underside of her belly. A great crash of teeth closing over the thin air was followed by a shriek as Draco clawed at Bellatrix's face. The larger dragon knocked him away effortlessly before regaining her equilibrium and resuming her attack on Hermione.

Draco tried to draw her attention again as he slid around a swipe from Bellatrix's tail, snapping at it as it passed. Hermione could feel his fury at their failure throbbing along her spine. Or was it her own anger? It was becoming difficult to tell the difference. Pansy was doing little better, unable to get close enough to sink her fangs into the black dragon's hide. Hermione barely dodged a claw-tipped wing, the razor-sharp appendage scraping across her thick scales.

Suddenly, Hermione's wings vibrated painfully as the Hogwarts wards reactivated. A shimmering, white line of power shot upwards from the ground, gruesomely destroying every wizard in its path. The Legion army was now split in half, both sides trapped against an impenetrable magical barrier, the Order on one side, the Centaurs on the other.

It quickly became clear that Bellatrix had little interest in either Draco or Pansy, or even on the battle raging beneath them. She wanted Hermione. It should have scared her. The focus of the great beast's glowing eyes should have sent her spiraling away. Instead, Hermione wanted to laugh. Bellatrix had given Hermione the means to destroy her, the one thing they had struggled to identify when making their plan.

Bait.

It seemed the thing Bellatrix wanted more than anything else, the thing that would bring her where they needed her to go, was Hermione. She slowed her movements, allowing Bellatrix to move forward before sliding out of the way. With every retreat, Hermione lured the Black Dragon forward. It wasn't long before Draco and Pansy caught on. Hermione's mind filled with Draco's displeasure.

 _Stupid. Risky. Caution._

Despite his objections, he followed, keeping Bellatrix distracted as they were moving her slowly through the sky. They were all accumulating injuries as they went. It hurt, seeing him and Pansy bleed over what was apparently a personal vendetta. The sooner they got Bellatrix to the appointed place, the better.

There! From the corner of her eye, Hermione caught a glimpse of the Quidditch Pitch.

The innocuous looking sand shimmered in the sunlight, a field large enough to contain all four dragons, and dangerous enough to trap a beast.

They were low to the ground now. When Hermione took a blow to the abdomen that sent her spinning through the air, she allowed herself to tumble to the ground, tucking her wings against her body and releasing the spell. Her human body took on the momentum, and she spiraled several feet before her slowing charm slid her to a stop, crouched on all fours.

Bellatrix landed in front of her, the ground shaking with her weight. The huge dragon had to be injured or better yet, incapacitated for their plan to work. Spells would be of no use. Her dragon form wasn't powerful enough. The world around her slowed. Draco was still in the sky, diving towards them, Pansy hovering not far behind. Bellatrix reared up, and her neck muscles coiled to attack.

Hermione took a deep breath and sprinted forward, drawing her knives.

* * *

It took far too long to set the Eggbomb. The fucking timing delay didn't want to stick properly. The longer George crouched in this hidden corner of the Lestrange Mansion and fiddled with a ceramic egg, the more likely was his discovery. But dammit, he needed to blow this bomb. If he had to stand here and set it off personally, thereby becoming a cloud of bone and blood, he would be very fucking put out.

"Don't worry, Forge," Fred chuckled. "You know I'm here for you."

"Shut. It."

He hoped everyone wasn't having this same problem. A few too many suspicious sightings and some lucky Legion member would send up an alarm. Then they would all be fucked. George chuckled as he realized that he had been in a very similar situation not long ago, and had experienced far fewer problems. Umbridge's castle had collapsed like a house of cards. If only this seething pile of rocks and evil could break as easily.

And just to make things more interesting, the Polyjuice was fading. George could feel the uncomfortable sensation of his borrowed features shifting and snapping back into their original form. Desperately, George gripped his wand and tried the delay spell one more time.

"Oy!"

George whipped around at the strange voice. Fuck. He was a goner.

"Stop right there!"

But just then, the Eggbomb lit with that damned beautiful glow that meant the delay had finally taken hold. George was already on his feet, tearing away from his hidden corner. He hoped he could give them a good chase so they would fail to discover the explosive he was forced to leave unprotected.

Casting hexes over his shoulder, George was gratified to hear his pursuer grunt and fall the floor with a clatter.

"Nicely done," Fred crowed.

Now it was time to get out of this hell-hole. He came around a corner at a dead run, just in time to see Blaise get hit squarely with a bright orange hex. The man cried out and fell backward, clutching at his face. With a shout, George sliced the attacker from hip to ear, hopping over the fallen body on his way to Blaise.

"Bloody hell," he swore.

The skin of Blaise's neck and half of his face looked old, cracked like cement. He winced in sympathy, even as he pulled the man upright, trying to wake him.

"He's out cold," Fred commented.

"Well spotted," George retorted.

Now what? Time was ticking away, and George could feel the impending destruction like an itch along his spine.

"Head's up!" Fred cried.

George heard the shuffling behind him a moment before the curse hit him like a sack of potatoes before he could even raise his wand. Turning on instinct, he fired back, catching his enemy full in the chest. The man was certainly dead this time, the pool of blood spreading beneath him evidence enough. As he blinked stupidly, the edges of his vision began to cloud.

A blinding hex. Lovely.

"I've got you, mate," he huffed, wondering if it were true. The 'bombs were set to go off in only a few minutes, and George couldn't see past the end of his nose. Blaise was indistinct now as George once again struggled to gather the unconscious man into a sitting position. He was filled with regret over the several years he had spent at the bottom of a potions bottle, the drugs and alcohol eating away at his strength. When had he gotten so thin?

"Bloody fucking hell." he panted. "Now what?"

"Like I said before," Fred's voice was very close. "I'm here for you, brother."

A sensation slithered across his body like cold pudding. He shivered uncontrollably. Something was trying to invade his body, accessing his mind.

 _Don't fight me._

George shrugged. What did he have to lose, after all?

Suddenly, Fred was there. Not the incorporeal presence he'd been thus far, but a warm, loving weight across his heart. He remembered long nights when they were children, wrapped around each other as they giggled and whispered in the dark. They hadn't even needed to speak most of the time, so aligned were their minds. Fred was the other half of George's soul, ripped away from him in agony and loss.

Suddenly, he felt whole again, achingly complete. Tears slid down his cheeks.

"Freddie," he sobbed.

 _I'm right here Georgie._

George realized could see, though his eyes were still muddy. It was like a new perspective layered over his own. He was dizzy, the world was out of shape and painted in black and white, but he knew he could navigate the halls. A new strength filled his limbs. He felt young again, but better yet, he could get them out of there.

 _Now would be a good time._

With a chuckle, George slung Blaise over his shoulders like a sack of flour and fled.

* * *

Draco and Hermione had Bellatrix down. They had figured out a way to get her to the Quidditch Pitch, and with all of them still alive. It was quite impressive actually. If Pansy didn't feel like she was going to drop from exhaustion and pain, she would be excited. The end was near.

Pansy blinked in surprise. Hermione had dropped her dragon form and was attacking Bellatrix with knives. The woman was either incredibly stupid, or insanely brave.

Probably both, Pansy decided.

Just as she prepared to join the fray, movement flickered from the corner of her eye. In the distance, beyond the castle and back at the battle, a massive blood-red dragon climbed into the sky from the shelter of the tree line. Dread pooled in Pansy's stomach. Fucking hell.

The Potters emerged from the field on their brooms, three other airborne pairs also rising to surround the deadly beast. They immediately attacked as they had planned, throwing curses and hexes. It took less than five seconds for Luna to retaliate. She snapped her teeth, effectively eviscerating a wizard and his broom, while her tail lashed out and cleaved another Order member in two.

It had been planned ahead of time. Divide and conquer. Pansy had been all too ready to volunteer to be the one to keep Luna busy. Even if she had thought Draco would be willing to leave Hermione, Pansy still would have insisted on the pleasure of taking a chunk out of the fucking beast who had taken Neville, the only thing in the world that was uniquely hers.

Draco and Hermione would have to handle the bleeding beast on the ground by themselves, for Luna was laying waste to the fragile humans with her fire and and a spiky tail. Veering off to the left, Pansy sliced through the air on her way to intercept. Luna was larger, with a powerful wingspan a belly full of flame, but Pansy was fast, agile and poisonous. And she was filled with a deadly fucking rage.

Luna wasted no time attacking Pansy. The two dragons circled each other, growling and lashing their tails, taking swipes with their talons and teeth. Heedless of the danger, Pansy dove straight in, tangling with the larger dragon. She managed to latch onto Luna's legs, haphazardly striking her belly with her fangs.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Luna howled in pain. Pansy reveled in the sound. It was like bathing in chocolate: sinful and utterly delightful. Nobody fucked with a Parkinson. Nobody dared take what was _hers_.

With a great heave, the red dragon dislodged Pansy, immediately twisting around to land a blow. Pansy took the broad side of Luna's heavy tail straight to her chest. The world tilted as she flipped to the ground, rolling several yards before coming to a screeching halt.

A fretful whine escaped her bruised ribs. It was difficult to breathe. Her wing was broken. She looked up and saw Luna destroy two more wizards. Idiots. They should have cleared out by now. Pansy tried to get up, but found that her back leg wasn't working properly.

Ginny hovered over her on a broom, muttering and weaving her wand in the air. The cooling sensation of a healing spell washed over Pansy. It still hurt. Fuck did it hurt. But her leg was mobile again and she could take a full breath. She sighed in relief.

"Wasn't sure that was going to work," Ginny quipped.

Pansy snorted and flicked her tail at the woman, gaining her feet again. There was so much power in this form, and Pansy had promised herself when she had transformed for the first time that nobody would ever be able to hurt her again. It was time to keep that promise.

It took two sweeps of her wings to get airborne again.

Pansy was arrowing in on her target, intending to wrap herself around the large dragon and hold on for dear life, when a bright curse slammed against Luna's side. She staggered in mid-air. The blood streaming from her multiple puncture wounds made the grass sizzle. The four remaining wizards dove in, firing curse after hex, until Luna was fighting to stay airborne.

Hovering above her, Pansy waited for her moment. The pain was eating at her, weakening her limbs and begging her to land and find a safe place to heal. She ignored it. A hex from Harry drove through Luna's wing, leaving behind a smoking hole in the delicate skin. She keened in pain and spiraled towards the ground.

Pansy followed.

Her claws wrapped around Luna's neck. She grappled for stability with the other, using her wings for balance. There was a great satisfaction in the draw of her fangs from her lips. Before she could strike, Luna twisted and fastened her teeth around Pansy's leg. The pain was immediate and intense. Pansy slid away, crying out.

In that moment, the red dragon surged into the sky, gamboling left and right but headed toward one place: the Legion encampment.

 _Neville_.

* * *

There had been plenty of terrible things in Draco's past. Having one's mind invaded by Voldemort had been horrifying in a way that was hard to describe. Draco distinctly remembered the sickening sensation of holding a wand on Dumbledore, not knowing he wouldn't have to use it. Hearing one of his best friends scream as he burned to death in Fiendfyre had been terrifying.

But watching a human Hermione run full speed at the Black Dragon was, without question, the worst moment of Draco's life. He knew she would be crushed, decapitated, eviscerated. It was his job to keep her safe. He should have taken her away, hidden her in a cave somewhere in the Alps. Instead, he would be forced to watch her die.

He fell on Bellatrix, claws outstretched. He would tear this fucking beast limb from limb. He would drink her blood and swallow the very essence of her life. Hermione disappeared underneath Bellatrix, knives ready. Draco howled.

His mouth was bruised from the strength of Bellatrix's scales. His claws ached and his wings burned. Bellatrix roared in pain, twisting to escape his grasp.

 _Not gonna happen, you fucking bitch._

After a moment, Hermione staggered from underneath Bellatrix, her face and hair coated in blood. Nobody could bleed like that and survive. His mind went blank. Bellatrix managed to buck him off in his moment of stunned fear. He tumbled to the ground.

With aching ribs, Draco looked up desperately. He blinked in surprise as Hermione used her wand to remove the steaming liquid from her skin before sheathing her knives. Her face and hands were red and shiny, tiny blisters rising from the burns. Dragon's blood. She wasn't dying, he realized in relief, but she was badly hurt.

His mind reached for her in a panic.

What returned was nothing but utter calm. She thought she had it all under control.

He wanted to snort. He wanted to scream at her.

 _Fucking Gryffindor._

Bellatrix twisted, her mouth reaching desperately for the human standing nearby. Draco landed in front of her, blasting the Black Dragon with every bit of flame in his throat. She moaned through her teeth and dropped, Draco's fire leaving behind curled and roasted scales. It was then that Draco saw the blood seeping out from under her, the work of Hermione's knives.

With the last of her strength, Bellatrix swept the ground with her tail, knocking Draco to the side with a grunt. Hermione flipped in mid-air, missing the moving appendage and landing on her feet. She whipped her wand toward the obelisk in the center of the practice pitch. The sand beneath them disappeared, revealing a blanket of chain link.

"Move!" she screamed at Draco.

Draco dragged at the air, desperately pushing himself away from the injured dragon beneath him. With a deadly whistle, the chain netting shot upward, encasing Bellatrix in a cage of steel.

He dropped _Formus_ spell, leaving his dragon body behind and catching Hermione in his arms just as she reached him.

"Are you okay?" he choked out.

Her skin was badly burned; some of the hair on her head and both her eyebrows were singed away. His hands trembled as he cast a healing spell over her. He couldn't seem to get his heart to stop racing.

"We got her."

Hermione was beaming. Unable to help himself, Draco grinned back. She looked a fright, as usual, but damn if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. They had done it. Against all odds, they had trapped the Black Dragon. It was time to finish this.

"Let's kill the bitch," he ground out.

Both of them turned, ready to slice her open until she bled to death, but before Hermione could even draw her blade, Bellatrix moved. Her chest expanded with a great breath, the steel links creaking under the strain. She stretched up as much as the netting would allow, her wings bulging through the gaps. On a deep exhale, Bellatrix blew fire, turning the metal a glowing amber. The links began to snap one by one.

"Fucking hell."

* * *

Narcissa knew the moment Lucius apparated onto the grounds of the Lestrange Mansion. The link that had kept them so close for so many years tugged at her. It had weakened after the Battle of Hogwarts and Bella's resurrection. A part of his soul had died with that disgusting ritual, and so had their bond.

She was alone in the Mansion, a ticking clock beating at her mind even as she searched for the lost treasure she needed so desperately. It had taken nothing to slip away from the slowly regrouping wizards near the edge of the property. They were distracted and afraid. It took even less to make her way through the old castle, the way more familiar than her own home, now nothing but ashes. What she needed was in Lucius's private rooms. After stealing it so many years ago, he kept it there as a trophy.

The sensation of his presence rippling across her skin caused her heart to kick up in fear. She had only minutes to find what she needed and get out. If he found her, he would never let her leave alive.

Except what she sought was not to be found, and Lucius was moments away. Knowing it was too late to run and fruitless to hide, Narcissa squared her shoulders and turned to face her last demon.

"My sweet wife."

He entered the room softly. After a moment's pause, he moved to the sideboard and poured two glasses of wine, as unruffled as if she had just come down to dinner.

"May I offer you a drink, my dear?"

"Fuck you, Lucius."

A small huff of surprise left his lips. "I see spending time with those savages has lowered you in more ways than one."

As he stepped toward her, she gripped her wand tighter.

"Now, now, there's no need for that," he purred. "I admit, I was quite upset when I found you had thrown in with the enemy. But I'm ready to forgive you if you only submit."

She would rather die.

" _You_ forgive _me_?" Narcissa hissed.

"You betrayed me!" White-hot rage ripped through Lucius's voice.

"You betrayed us!" she shot back. "The day you brought that foul creature back from the dead, you abandoned your soul. You abandoned your son!"

Lucius calmed immediately, sipping from his glass.

"He hates me for what I did," Lucius admitted, unperturbed. "It was unfortunate that he should witness such a dark ritual when he is so . . . fragile."

"Draco was once the light of your life," Narcissa reminded him.

Lucius hummed. "So much undiscovered potential. I admit to the greatest disappointment that my seed could produce such weakness. I would question his paternity if I did not know for certain he was mine."

Narcissa straightened, the memory of the old Fidelity Curse making her sick to her stomach.

"The boy's love for you has never dimmed, however." A sly smile curled his lips. "Does he know, I wonder?"

A lump of white-hot fear crawled up her throat. Without permission, her fingers crept to the center of her breast, where the damned thing still sat, the thin, silver chain like an iron weight around her neck. Spying the movement, Lucius threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

Harry felt a surge of triumph as Pansy chased Luna from the battlefield. A small cheer went up from the remaining soldiers perched on brooms. The edges of his sight were getting fuzzy and narrow.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his vision. No luck. He thought back to when he had taken the Dancing Death poison. It had been several hours. He sat on his broom and flexed his toes. He could see them move, but he couldn't feel them anymore.

"Back to the battle!" he ordered. Obediently, they turned their brooms and headed toward the surging bodies, bright curses flying overhead.

It was time to end this. He wasn't afraid to die, but he was terrified he would drop in the middle of everything. He needed to fight. He _must_ see the Order rise victorious before he died. He had to know Ginny and Lily would be safe.

"Let's go!" Ginny shouted to him, beckoning him from her broom.

Bloody hell she was gorgeous. He wished he had told her more often. The past few years had been mostly filled with pain and humiliation, but the small moments of light and laughter had been all Ginny. He wanted to touch her skin again. He wanted to make her smile. He absolutely must keep her alive.

"Everything alright?" she asked, her eyes glittering with panic.

Steering the broom next to hers, he leaned in and nipped at her throat.

"Behave yourself, Potter!" she objected with a grin.

"Time to finish this."

Her warm brown eyes turned sad as she flew ahead, dodging a green curse. Gulping down the knot that had formed in his suddenly tight throat, Harry followed.


	24. To Rearrange the Stars

Chapter Twenty-Four: To Rearrange the Stars

She was coming to the end of her strength. Gulping at the air like a fish out of water, she couldn't seem to get enough to ease the ache in her chest. There was pain in every corner of her dragon's body. It was mostly her wing. She had taken a glancing hit from Bellatrix's tail not long ago, seemingly insignificant in comparison to the others, but she could feel the muscles tucked against her spine curl and tear.

Draco was also flagging. He was bleeding profusely from a wound near his ribs. Just the two of them were not enough to keep the Black Dragon at bay. Pansy had left them some time ago to fight Luna and had not returned. Hermione desperately wished to visually seek her out, just to be sure she was still alive, but was unable to take her eyes off of the fight in front of her. Even a small slip up now could mean her death, or Draco's.

Bellatrix was suffering as well, though not nearly enough. It had taken her less than two minutes to break through the carefully constructed steel netting. The thing had been created and bound by magic, set to snap closed at a command and stay closed until released. The terror Hermione had felt as she watched the dragon snap through their trap outstripped nearly every other monstrous event in her life.

Hermione had been certain that the open wound she had carved into Bellatrix's belly was enough to kill her. The pool of blood had been large enough to wade in, after all; but Bellatrix's fire had destroyed that impenetrable cage before they could inflict any more damage and she had shed the magical net and attacked them once again.

Now they were back to attack and evade, feint and parry. Bellatrix had several wounds besides the slowly draining slice across her belly, a bent spine in her left wing, and a puncture wound from Pansy near her neck that was suppurating. Despite that, it was becoming more obvious by the minute that they would not succeed in killing her.

As if they agreed without speaking, they both knew what needed to be done. With all the other safeguards they had in place, even if Bellatrix survived, the Order could still claim victory. They just had to hold her off until that moment. Or until they died. As time went on, the latter was looking more likely.

Draco was bleeding, the dark red fluid staining his beautiful pearly scales. Hermione hated seeing it. She hated hearing every cry of pain, every grunt of exertion. She had seen the blood-soaked corpses of her friends, closed cold lids over empty eyes. It was impossible to think about Draco in that way. It made her heart trip painfully, it pushed her to move faster and bite harder.

The sky had darkened as they fought, the ominous clouds in the distance had finally arrived. They cracked and thundered overhead, releasing a torrent of cold rain. It slithered across her scales, leaked into her eyes and made it difficult to see properly. The air was thick with liquid, making every movement heavy and burdensome.

As she dipped around Bellatrix's vicious snap, her body screamed in protest. She wanted to sob. This needed to be over soon. One way or another.

Draco darted forward, using his teeth to take a bite from her underbelly. With a howl, Bellatrix coiled away, forcing Hermione to jerk out of her path. A searing pain lanced across her back like lightning. Her wing folded and she plummeted, air whistling past her ears as she sank from the clouds. Struggling to stay conscious, she gained control just in time to slam into the top of the astronomy tower. The magically fortified structure shuddered.

Hermione gained her feet just moments before she saw the Black Dragon bearing down on her. A streak of white entered her vision and Draco was crashing into the much larger beast. Bellatrix shrieked and snorted flames, turning just in time to slam Draco into the stones with a single claw wrapped around his neck. Hermione heard a violent snap and saw a bone protruding from the wing crushed under his body.

He uttered a low whine, but didn't move. Through the sheets of icy rain, Hermione could see him breathing in short gasps from between Bellatrix's talons. She needed to go to him, but her legs wouldn't move.

 _Get up!_ She silently screamed at him, even as she struggled to regain her own equilibrium.

Her legs began working, her wings tucked in their right place, and she began to move even as she knew it was too late. Bellatrix turned to look her full in the face as she casually shoved the white dragon, not bothering to watch as he slid limply from the battlements, a trail of steaming blood marking his passage.

A terrified roar ripped from her throat. The pain forgotten, it took Hermione seconds to reach the edge of the tower, desperately searching for any sign of him. Lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating a pile of white scales at the base of the castle, utterly unmoving. The floor dropped out from under her and she went reeling backwards.

 _No. NO!_

Her heart stopped beating, the world stopped spinning, the breath left her lungs. For a single moment in time, she was left suspended in disbelief. Then it all came crashing down on her head. It was like electricity searing through her blood, igniting the wellspring of wild magic buried in her bones. The panicked energy tripped down her four legs and out across the thin skin of her wings. She crawled across the cold stones, away from the lifeless body of the man she loved.

Distantly, she heard Bellatrix let loose a terrible roar of triumph.

Everything was hazy, the hectic pounding of her heart was making her vision twist and bounce. The magic was getting away from her. Static was invading her mind. The crazed power that she kept so carefully at bay every moment of her life was roaring out of control.

Clutching claws became grasping fingers as Hermione lost her grip on the _Formus_ spell.

Suddenly, Bellatrix was much larger, and the world much smaller. Her sense of smell and hearing shriveled away as the Dragon receded to the back of her mind. The change was like cold water poured over her head, yanking her from her paralysis. Staring up into a reptilian face that suddenly twisted into something resembling triumph, Hermione realized her predicament.

Could she manage the spell again, with so little strength left? Would she have time to transform before the other dragon killed her?

Making a decision, Hermione scrambled away, even as Bellatrix advanced, stalking forward with the assurance of a predator guaranteed a kill. It would be over in moments, and then the Black Dragon would be free to rain terror down on the Order soldiers from the sky.

 _Keep her off the battlefield_.

She didn't want to leave him. But she had no choice.

" _Lumos Maximus_!" she screamed, thrusting her wand forward.

The sudden flare of light sent Bellatrix reeling, blinking stupidly. It was enough for Hermione to slip between her legs and sprint for the castle door. Just as she'd hoped, it wasn't long before the door creaked behind her, and the voice that haunted her nightmares echoed down the stairs.

"Here, little Mudblood," she sang. "Here, you filthy creature."

The stones next to Hermione's head exploded in a shower of rubble. She jerked away and kept running.

Draco was dead, Bellatrix was alive, and Hermione had nothing left.

 _Just keep her off the battlefield._

Heart pounding and breath rattling, she ran on, Bellatrix dogging her every step, hunting her through the halls of Hogwarts like a Dementor seeking a kiss.

Without conscious thought, she headed down, her feet taking her to the place she had felt the safest, the most loved. She ended up in the dungeons, staring at the faded green door she had called her own. Across the hall stood another door, much like hers but hiding a secret, powerful place. It was the heart of Hogwarts, and it had served her well before.

Hermione paced in front of it three times before clattering inside. A hex singed the last of the hair on her head as she shoved the door shut behind her. Bellatrix would never be able to get inside unless Hermione allowed it. She could hide here forever, or she could face her end.

According to some, one's fate was written in the stars. If that were so, then Hermione knew she would take apart the heavens and create her own damn constellations if it meant defeating her enemy.

"I know you can hear me," she said aloud. A breeze fluttered over her blistered skin. "I hate to ask any more of you. But I need you to change the rules and let the bitch inside."

* * *

Luna had landed somewhere on the outskirts of the Legion encampment. Pansy wanted to scour the tents for her and finish what she started, but she caught sight of a small melee near the center. Neville's rescue team was trapped. They hid behind a small outcropping, bravely facing off against five Legion members.

Pansy recognized her former betrothed and his twin sister amongst the enemies. A growl worked its way up her throat at the sight. She knew they had been torturing Neville, just as she knew Neville was the small clump of rags cowering at Theo's feet.

It took only a moment to change directions. Pansy landed on her back feet, wings spread and rattling as she hissed and spat venom. She hadn't forgotten that she was not impervious to spells as Bellatrix was, she simply no longer cared. Seeing Neville had broken something inside her. If they were going to kill her, she was going to shed some blood before they did.

A few of the enemy wizards balked at her aggressive show, falling back. Amycus and Alecto did not. They hit her with a stunning curse, causing her legs to freeze in place. She had never wished so much for fire as she did at that moment. Instead, she spat a long stream of venom their way. Alecto dove away, but Amycus took it full in the face.

He screamed and clawed at the poison eating away at his skin. Pansy used the opportunity to retreat behind the outcropping, her legs regaining some of their mobility.

Neville was sitting upright in the mud, a dark cloak covering his nakedness. When Pansy managed to catch his gaze, he screamed and started backing away. There was so much fear in him, the man who just days before, had walked up to her dragon form and caressed her cheek. It was too much.

The attack had resumed, with Alecto leading the enemy. They didn't have much time.

"Tried to Disapparate," Wood shouted. "We didn't want to take the chance."

He looked at Neville meaningfully. Pansy understood. They needed to get out of there, but a hysterical Neville significantly increased their odds of Splinching.

Pansy snapped at Theo. The man turned from the battle with an annoyed grimace, his eyes widening when they fell on a blubbering Neville. Pansy flapped her wings, trying to portray her intentions. She gestured to Neville with a claw and grunted. Understanding passed between dragon and wizard.

"Stun him?" Theo asked, doubtful.

Pansy nodded.

Neville made no attempt to dodge the hex, merely falling over in a mindless heap. He didn't even twitch as Pansy approached, scooping him up between her talons.

 _Sorry_ , she wanted to tell him. _I'm so sorry, my dearest love._

"Have you got him?" Theo shouted, dodging a curse.

Pansy snorted impatiently. With a relieved nod, Theo gave the order to retreat, and the three of them Disapparated.

Cradling Neville's broken body in her claws, Pansy readied herself to take off.

A large, red beast fell from the sky, landing directly in Pansy's path. She was hit across the face with a large, barbed tail, the impact throwing her to the side. Neville rolled across the ground, still unconscious.

Pain shot through her body, coiling her muscles and crackling against her scales. Cruciatus.

Alecto Carrow entered her field of vision, her wand holding the curse in place. "Well done, my love."

Rallying the last of her strength, Pansy snapped the wand from the witch's grip, purring in satisfaction as it landed on the ground in pieces. Alecto screamed in a fury, releasing the curse. Pansy retreated, coiled around Neville's body, and stood ready to fight.

These fuckers wouldn't get him again. No matter how many Unforgivable Curses were cast, Pansy would take every bit of pain until the moment of her death. And when that seemed imminent, she would take Neville with her.

* * *

Harry had lost sight of Ginny. In a panic, he searched for her, reflecting curses and killing anyone in his path. Where had she gone?

Oh Merlin, could she be injured? Could she be lying in the mud, bleeding and alone? Could she be dead? Suddenly afraid he would trip over her, he stopped running and began searching the ground. His vision was fading so quickly. He couldn't see a fucking thing.

"Harry Potter. As I live and breathe."

Harry looked up in time to deflect a bright red curse. The voice was almost familiar, but he couldn't make out the man's face. He didn't have time for this. A sweep of his wand and the man was in pieces.

Where the fuck was his wife?

The left side of his body was buzzing unpleasantly. He could feel the weakness setting in even as his heart stuttered and started in fits. Damn his body. Damn that fucking poison. He needed to find Ginny and keep her alive. He would not leave this life without knowing she would survive. He refused to leave Lily an orphan.

* * *

It wasn't much of a fight. Hermione was exhausted, at her limits. She was soon tied with magical bonds, on the floor and losing her ability to struggle. The room was an exact replica of her own, with all the familiar books and pictures hanging on the wall. At least she would die surrounded by the things that had made her happy in life, even if they were just an imitation.

Bellatrix was bleeding, obviously injured, but seemingly unaware of her blood splattering the floor.

 _Keep her busy. Keep her here. Get up!_

But her body would not obey.

Bellatrix was circling Hermione, just as she used to do. Her voice was conversational, pleasant even, but Hermione knew there was menace underneath. She would die, to be sure, but Bellatrix would make her beg for it before the end.

"He's quite dead, you know."

"No," Hermione ground out.

"I know about the bond between the two of you. Dragons can see such things. Though you aren't a _true_ dragon," she spat. "Obviously, some measure of the dragon's nature passed to you."

"Stop."

"Don't believe me? See for yourself. I'll give you a moment."

She had shoved all recognition of their bond deep down inside her. Looking would only confirm what she feared, what she had witnessed only minutes before. Even so, Bellatrix's words made her aware. Without permission, her dragon's senses bubbled to the surface, and she gasped in pain. The bright light that had connected them was gone. Only a deep well of emptiness remained.

The Dragon was howling.

Reaching down to the very core of her spirit, Hermione took hold of the seething mass of Wild Magic waiting to escape. It was depleting quickly, already drained from the demands of the battle and the gauntlet of the last several weeks. There was enough left. Enough to wreak havoc. Hermione decided she would bring down the whole fucking castle.

Her body was a vessel of power, anguish, grief and rage. A scream erupted from deep within her chest, and with it, all the turbulent power that she had held captive for so many years. It burned through her, blasting away the last of her fear and shame. It expanded out from her body, a flaming torrent of pain and pure energy.

Hermione felt herself lifted, the magic bonds leaving her body. The power bowed her spine, crushing her as it built in intensity. Suddenly, it snapped, careening away even as it flipped her around and slammed her to the floor. Sparks exploded behind her eyelids, and she lay still as the inferno burned around her.

Then it was gone.

Consciousness was tenuous. Slowly cooling stones pillowed her cheek. Hermione cracked her eyelids open slowly, even as her body shuddered with pain. The room was in shambles, books reduced to floating embers and ash, the bed a pile of timbers.

Bellatrix still stood, a glittering shield surrounding her body. Hermione closed her eyes in defeat.

The magical ward had only partially protected Bellatrix. The woman was still standing, but her skin was red and shiny with burns, her hair lit with embers. She seemed to feel no pain, for as she limped forward, a cruel cutting hex divided the skin of Hermione's shoulders.

Hermione screamed.

* * *

"Of course, he knows nothing," Lucius chuckled. "You are all too willing to place blame on his father, but you keep Draco safe from the knowledge of his mother's complicity."

"I did nothing to help bring Bellatrix back from the dead," Narcissa cried, choking on the lie.

"We both know that isn't true. You like to call the ritual Necromancy, and I suppose in some way it was, but the truth is so much darker."'

"Stop." Narcissa knew, but she couldn't allow him to say it aloud.

"I could not have brought sweet Bella back without the missing piece of her soul," he sang. "The piece you helped her smuggle away so many years ago."

"I didn't know," Narcissa moaned. She could feel him circling her slowly, torturing her with her greatest shame.

"You knew," he taunted. "The Dark Lord may have given Bella the knowledge, but she could never have ordered her scattered mind around the magic without your help."

He was right. Bellatrix had been clever in her approach, only giving Narcissa bits and pieces of the ritual at first and cloaking it all in soft words and honeyed manipulation. When the suspicion began to nag at Narcissa, she had pushed it aside. Bellatrix was a Black, no matter what pathetic family she had married into, and such filthy ways were beneath the Most Noble and Ancient House. Only witches and wizards with weak minds and even weaker blood would resort to such chicanery.

"You're here for the Sword of Gryffindor," he crooned. "I'm afraid I've hidden it. I can't let you destroy the one thing keeping me in power."

Narcissa was weeping.

"I also can't let you leave without taking what is rightfully mine."

He ripped the jewel from her, the chain cutting deeply into the flesh of her neck. She cried out and reached for it, only to have him dangle it just out of her reach. He laughed and cradled the jewel in his hand before frowning.

"What is this?" he hissed.

Narcissa chuckled through her tears, a deep satisfaction spreading through her. "You didn't think I would bring it, did you?"

"Where is it, you bitch?" he screamed, advancing on her. "Where is the Horcrux?"

Narcissa only laughed. Lucius swung his wand in a vicious curse. It slammed into her body, making her scream and bleed.

"You will tell me where it is!" he barked, his pale skin darkening in rage.

His next curse sent her wand flying. She floundered on the ground, feeling nothing but pain. The _Cruciatus_ was familiar to her, but somehow it was always worse coming from Lucius. At first, Narcissa had thought it was because the pain was accompanied by the agony of betrayal, but now she thought it was because Lucius had always had the power to hurt her more than any other person.

"And what am I supposed to do with this?" he snarled, holding the red jewel up to his eyes. "This. . . this. . ."

His voice trailed off, and Narcissa knew fear again. She inched away from him, coughing in pain.

"This _map_." The whisper was filled with wonder. Narcissa cringed.

His laugh was cold and menacing.

"Thank you, my dear," he chuckled, eyes still on the pendant he held. "It seems you aren't as useless as I thought."

"Lucius," she coughed.

He turned with a raised brow; no doubt surprised that she was still alive.

" _Avada Kedavra."_

The curse caught him square in the chest. He stopped short, his eyes rounded in shock, his mouth moving without a sound.

"Cissa." Her name was a sigh. He took a single step in her direction before falling to the floor. The last breath rattled from his lungs, and he fell still, his beautiful blue eyes on her face.

Narcissa pulled the necklace from his grip and wrapped in her cloak. Whispering over the bloodied fabric, she watched as it formed itself into the shape of an owl.

"Go," she ordered.

The satin bird flapped away, a red jewel blinking from between its beak, and Narcissa felt her muscles give way. She crawled to Lucius, studying his beautiful face and empty eyes.

There was something roiling in her belly, pushing up past her ribs and over her heart, tearing through her throat and rattling the very stones around her as it escaped her body. It was a scream, so long and utterly heartbroken she thought it might rip her apart.

Lucius had long ago turned his heart from her, burying the organ in darkness and dirt, but Narcissa had kept a part of herself for her husband, for the young man strutting the halls of Hogwarts who had so effectively stolen her heart and soul.

She sobbed over the cooling body of her love as even as blood clotted in her throat and her vision dimmed.

* * *

"Narcissa Malfoy is missing."

Bloody fucking hell.

"Can we confirm that all the important players are in the mansion?"

"Yes, sir. Lucius Malfoy and the Lestrange brothers are accounted for."

"We can't wait any longer," Ron said. "They're onto us."

"Perhaps she went back to Hogwarts," added Seamus.

 _Unlikely_ , Fred said.

It didn't matter. There wasn't time.

George threw one more glance at the unconscious Blaise, hoping the man would wake up and give his blessing. Or perhaps his forgiveness. Of everyone standing around looking to George for a decision, Blaise was the closest Narcissa had to family. But underneath the pile of bloodied rags on his face and neck, he remained silent.

"The 'Bombs go off as planned." A small cheer went up. "And we're leaving."

Only moments later, the first explosion rocked the ground, sending fire and dirt and stones up into the air. The rest of the bombs followed soon after. A few black-cloaked people were fleeing the castle, heading for the nearby hills.

"Time to go!" Ron yelled over the din of falling stones.

One by one, they Disapparated back to Hogwarts.

When the world stopped spinning, George found himself at the top of the usual hill, overlooking the castle. It was pouring rain, the clouds blotting out the sun and making midday seem like twilight. The battle raged on below, but there were no dragons in the sky. A dark feeling settled in his stomach as Ron and the rest of the team sprinted down to join the fray.

 _Hold on a moment._

Instantly, he was frozen in place. A wriggling started somewhere deep in his mind. He felt a ripping sensation as if a layer of his skin peeled away. He screamed and doubled over, gasping. It was over in less than a second.

 _Sorry, Georgie._

"What the fuck, Fred?" he coughed, trying not to gag.

Fred stood a few feet away, dressed in one of his old monogrammed Christmas jumpers, hands in his pockets. He looked so young. He also looked happy.

I _had to get out before it was too late._ He grinned. _Getting a bit too comfy in your noggin._

"Warn a man first." He still wanted to vomit.

' _Bout time I scarpered._

"You're not staying with me?" George felt cold.

 _Here_? He looked around, hands in his pockets. _Nah. This place is for the living. Besides, I got a train to catch._

George waited for the tearing agony, the suffocating, drowning feeling of loss. When it didn't come. Fred laughed at him.

 _You're okay, Georgie. I promise._

He was right. George took a shuddering breath. It felt different. He still hurt, but the grief didn't sit on his chest like a sack of bricks, making it difficult to breathe.

"I still miss you," George whispered. "It hurts like the first day."

 _It's supposed to hurt, you numpty. You're alive._

A tear escaped, blending with the raindrops trickling down his cheeks. George roughly wiped it away with his sleeve. He was suddenly terrified, and it had nothing to do with the fighting going on below. What if he had no other purpose? What if he had no life to live?

 _Don't worry. You've got loads left to do._

He hoped his twin was right. Otherwise, the future stretched on empty and endless.

"Don't get into any trouble without me," George warned.

 _Sorry mate_ , Fred chuckled. _But I've got big plans for the afterlife._

He grinned mischievously then looked around as if he had a secret. He turned out his pockets, which were suddenly filled with Mayhem Makers, Whiz-Bangs, and Extendable Ears.

 _McGonagall is probably bored out of her mind. It's a public service, really._

George laughed, the strange movement creaking through his ribs and scratching his throat.

"Get on with you then," he chuckled.

Fred grinned and turned on his heel.

"Love you, Gred."

 _Love you Forge._

Fred's laughter lingered in the air even as his ghost disappeared.

* * *

Parkinson curled herself around Neville, tail rattling and venom dripping from her fangs.

"Just kill the beast and be done with it," Alecto ordered, throwing away her useless wand. She swiped wet hair from her face in irritation. "We need to take Longbottom to a safe place."

Luna hesitated.

"End this!" Alecto hissed.

Neville opened his swollen eyes and looked at her. There was no recognition in his eyes, no longer even any fear. They were empty, just like Luna. And it was all her fault. Sucking in a breath, Luna stumbled back acutely aware of where she was standing: in the enemy camp. On the wrong side of this bloody, beastly, brutal war.

Luna remembered the look of betrayal on Hermione's face when she had finally seen the darkness within. She would never be forgiven. She blinked, astounded that it should hurt her so much.

Parkinson's poison was eating at her insides like a flame. She could feel it licking at the edges of her heart, the organ stuttering with strain. The buzzing in her ears was growing louder, clearer, more real. It was a scream. A long-buried, ever-ignored, plea for help. The girl locked away in Luna's mind was wailing, pleading for mercy.

 _End this. Please._

Alecto was screaming at her; the woman who had broken her and twisted her into a monster.

Letting the dragon fall away, Luna spun her wand in the air, watching as Alecto stiffened where she stood as if frozen. The binding spell would last only moments before the other woman broke free.

Parkinson's cocked her head, sheathing her fangs.

"Run," Luna told her.

Not a moment of hesitation from the thin, purple dragon. She caught Neville up in her claws and drove the two of them into the sky.

"Luna," Alecto choked. "What are you doing, my love?"

Wasn't it obvious? Perhaps not. It certainly wasn't what Luna wanted. What she most desired was to remove Alecto's limbs one by one. Luna imagined taking her skin from her flesh and listening to her scream. Her hands were shaking; her stomach was twisting with shame and sick, twisted pleasure.

"What are you doing?" Alecto repeated, desperate.

Luna sighed. "Ending this."

As Luna pressed herself against Alecto, tasting her mouth for the last time, she clutched the Eggbomb hidden in her pocket. Looking into the depths of Alecto's eyes, so devoid of light and goodness, so unlike Hermione's, she whispered, " _Decimari_."

In the infinitesimal spark of time before the explosive tore her apart, she saw herself as she was before, roaming the halls Hogwarts, the Ravenclaw common room, in her father's home. She could taste the warmth of butterbeer on her tongue, feel the thrill of a new idea at the back of her mind, the tight embrace of a friend, the scent of her father's shirt, the silky-sharp pages of a new book, the joy of magic and life and love.

She remembered her friend, her only true love, and the trust and understanding and strength that had existed between them.

 _Happy_.

 _Harmony_.

 _Hermione_.

* * *

Help me.

She didn't know to whom she was praying. She didn't even know if she were speaking the words aloud. Perhaps she was screaming. Perhaps it was all in her head. She dug her fingers into the pebbled mortar under her and begged. There was death somewhere in her future. She wanted it desperately.

Help me.

A cackle of exultation. A swish of her wand. Hermione was flipped over like a dead fish, staring at the ceiling. Turning her head was a challenge, but she would be damned if she cowered in the face of her impending death. The bones in her neck crackled as she met the eyes of her killer.

Let me die.

A wind kicked up in the small room. Ashes and splinters rose into the air. It rushed over Hermione's aching skin and blew the hair away from Bellatrix's face. It smelled like sunlight and a hill somewhere in the Albanian mountains. Hermione smiled.

The woman frowned, looking around.

"What is this?" she spat. "What have you done?"

She advanced, raising her wand. After only two steps, she stopped suddenly, a strange look flitting across her face. Hermione blinked. Was the floor vibrating? Or had she lost her mind to exhaustion and despair? She must be hallucinating, for it appeared as if Bellatrix's feet had sunk into the stones. A massive tremor rolled underneath Hermione's back even as Bellatrix screamed.

The wind rushed at her, turning her over and pushing her across the floor. She knew what she must do.

 _Trabeadraki Formus._

The agony of the transformation barely registered with her. Hermione absorbed the look of terror on Bellatrix's face the moment before she struck, soaking it up like sweet Butterbeer.

Bellatrix Lestrange tasted like tar and ash and slimy dark things hiding under beds. Hermione spat her head to the floor as soon as she tore it from her enemy's body. A great surge of triumph crashed through her dragon's body. She couldn't help the furious roar that blasted through the room.

The last of the dirt beneath the dark witch's body fell away like water and what was left of her was sucked down into the sea of roiling stones and dirt. As the last of her dark, bloody cloak slipped away, the floor reformed as if it had never been broken. Hermione blinked stupidly at the place where the darkest witch in history had stood just before the castle swallowed her whole.

Had it truly been Hogwarts or had she finally lost her mind? Had the castle felt her need and responded as it always had before. It mattered little. Hermione was dying. She could rest now. All she wanted to do was curl up and sleep.

Even as she let her eyes slide closed, she felt the whisper of something move through walls around her, caressing her skin like a benediction.

 _Thank you._

Her eyes snapped open. There was a new pain. Torn wings, burning scales, broken ligaments and shattered bones. The pain was not her own. It came to her like an echo across a canyon, carried on a wind of shimmering pearls and gold. It came with the scent of fire and black ink. It came with a command that she could not - would not - ignore.

The walls were still rattling, the rocks and mortar forking into cracks. A stone tumbled to the floor, then another and another, leaving a gaping hole open to the sky. The whole castle would be no more than rubble in a few minutes. With a creaking sigh, lights of pain exploding behind her eyes, Hermione pushed herself up and flew away, the head of her enemy in her claws.

* * *

He spotted her. She was fighting with a small group of witches and wizards, pushing the enemy back. It seemed there were fewer of the Legion than there were before, either dead or run away. It took longer to reach her than he would have liked, for his left leg dragged behind him. He used his broom as a crutch, making his way over the bodies of his friends and enemies.

He saw the Legionnaire take aim. With the last of his strength, he thrust himself in front of the man who had zeroed in on his wife with a sneer on his face. The curse took him in the back. It was a simple cutting hex, and honestly, Harry hardly felt it. Most of his body was nothing but pins and needles and random spurts of pain. It took him to his knees, his legs finally giving out.

The man fell a moment later; ribcage ripped open. He heard his name. Ginny was there. She covered him with healing spells, stopping the bleeding. He wanted to tell her not to bother. It wasn't the curse that was killing him. He saw the moment she realized.

"I love you," she said.

He wanted to say it back, but his throat was closing. He wanted to stroke her hair, but his hands were stuck. The pain in her face was worse than any curse. This was better, he assured himself. He could have died in bed, useless and frail. Instead, he had fought.

A dragon's roar in the distance. Hermione. He could hear the screams and cheers of victory as if through a wall of glass.

"She's dead," Ginny's nebulous voice reached him. He desperately wanted to keep his eyes open, locked on his wife. He was struggling to take a breath, his ribs tripping painfully with the strain. She leaned over him, blocking out the rain clouds and the dirty battlefield. He could count every freckle on her face, he knew them so well.

"It's okay," she whispered, her nose pressed against his. "We're safe now. We'll be safe."

Distantly, he felt tears of relief slide down his temple.

Though her eyes glistened with grief, her gaze was clear and brave, as it had always been. Her beautiful hair was tickling his face. It still smelled like flowers.

"Let go, my love."

And he did.

Harry wasn't afraid, he had done this before, after all. Dying was like falling asleep, or so Sirius had told him. He had been nearly right the first time. The second time was less like sleep and more like torture. As his muscles curled and snapped and his teeth clamped together, Harry wanted to chuckle darkly. The poison was finally doing its job and retrieving the gift it had given him, one onerous breath at a time. His heart stuttered in his chest and his vision went dark.

The last thing he knew before he finally felt peace was the softness of Ginny's lips pressed against his, the salt of her tears in his mouth, and the memory of Lily's sweet-smelling hair.


	25. To Find What Is Lost

_A/N: Okay guys this is it. This story is COMPLETE. There are no words to describe how much I have loved going on this journey with you. I know I've been shit at replying to reviews lately, but just know that your words kept me going through all the fits and starts and hard places. You guys are amazing._

 _I would be lost with my Beta, iwasbotwp. Seriously. Thanks for all the input and good ideas and the help with my awful punctuation._

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five: To Find What is Lost

There was a dragon in the ballroom of Nott Manor.

He lay on a pile of hastily ripped silk curtains and tablecloths, stained black with his blood. Two healers were weaving a net of magic around him, attempting to knit his bones and veins back together. Hermione wasn't sure how she had gotten him here, but she knew it had taken the last of her strength to do it, for when she reached for the the power to help his healers, she came up empty handed. There was only a flickering light left inside her, like a candle's flame ready to gutter out of existence.

The healers shrugged their shoulders at her. They weren't dragon healers, they told her. They had never seen any magic like this before. They didn't know how to help him. He was as healthy as they could make him. There were others who needed their help and needed it now. They didn't know why he wouldn't wake up. Perhaps he just needed time.

Hermione scoffed silently. Time was the last thing he needed. The thread keeping them tethered together was unspooling and she knew it. She felt it tugging at her under her ribs, but couldn't seem to get a hold of it. Helplessness swamped her, compounded by a weariness that weighed down her limbs. She sat down on the cold marble floor, her head in her hands.

With her eyes closed, she could feel the multiple injuries she had sustained during the battle. Her whole body throbbed and twitched in pain. The flaky brown remains of Bellatrix crusted under her fingernails and sat heavy on her tongue. When she looked inside herself, she found she was empty in a way that was entirely new and yet achingly familiar.

People filtered in and out. She didn't really notice them, but she suddenly had food next to her knee and a blanket around her shoulders. She didn't hear them speak but seemed to understand what they told her. The battle was over. Blaise was near death in a room upstairs. Neville cowered and cried and wouldn't let anyone near him. Draco was trapped in a dragon's body and completely lost to her. Harry was dead.

A hot tear tracked down her cheek. The sensation brought her out of her stupor. Another tear dripped from her chin. She raised a shaking hand raised to her cheek, feeling the wetness there and marveling at it. How many years had she gone without tears, only to have them when they meant nothing? Each tiny drop felt like it held the weight of an entire universe.

They had won.

They had lost so much.

It was shocking how quickly Draco had become so vital to her. She tried to remember that first night at the safe house when she had threatened him and he had sneered at her. How had _that_ man turned into the missing piece of her heart? By bribing her into eating, bullying her into resting, and believing that she could triumph in the face of impossible odds.

He had given the Order the means to win an unwinnable war, but more than that, he had made her believe in herself again. With a snarky rejoinder and that infernal bloody eyebrow, he had kindled the flame of courage in her heart. He had stood next to her when so many others had pulled away in fear. For the first time in years, she hadn't felt alone. He had faced down her demons, kissed all of her scars and coaxed pleasure from her body in a way nobody ever had.

He hadn't fixed her; he had shown her that she wasn't broken.

The knobs along the top of his shoulder were bony and cool to the touch. She ran her fingers along the bumps, moving along the slick scales of his neck. A part of her waited desperately for him to roll over and purr at her, begging for attention, but the steady swell and fade of his ribs was his only sign of life. When she reached the spiky frill at his jaw and his eyes remained closed, she collapsed to her knees.

"Open your eyes," she whispered against his nose. "You can't make me love you and then leave me here."

She didn't have enough power. The little flicker of magic still left within her core was barely enough to light a candle, much less transform her into a dragon. If she did manage it, she might very well be trapped like Draco. But she needed to be near him, to lay next to him and feel his heartbeat, to cover him with her wings and protect him until he awoke.

" _Trabeadraki Formus."_

The familiar sensation of her body breaking and reforming was painful but joyous.

As her scales formed over her skin and her wings stretched out behind her, she felt her inner dragon reach out for Draco. Their two minds collided with a clap of magic and twined around each other. The sudden awareness of him grabbed her and yanked her forward. It was like a missing puzzle piece clicked into place. It was like coming home. She collapsed next to him, her wing covering him protectively as her mind flew along the golden thread, anxious to find any sign of him.

* * *

He sat next to his parents in the Great Hall, resting on an overturned column. There was dust in his throat and dirt on his skin. The Dark Mark on his arm tingled. The shame in his gut was twisting his insides into a maze of self-loathing. He hated himself. He hated the choices he had made. He hated the fear that still gripped his throat as he watched them bring the body of Dark Lord into the Hall.

She was among the group gathered around his corpse. He could see her mass of hair braided down her back, a bushy halo of escaped curls gathered around her face. She stood with her shoulders curved inward as if the grief of the day might crush her. How did she not feel the weight of his stare? It was so important that she turn and come to him, as he knew she eventually would.

There would be no real recognition in her eyes.

He choked on the desire to go to her, pull her against him and inhale her scent. He knew that if he pressed his lips to the spot under her ear, she would taste like oranges and sunlight, and she would shudder in his arms. He knew the feeling of her breath panting against his mouth, the way his name sounded on her lips when she broke apart; the rough silk of her curls against his finger, the way her scales caught the light like all the stars in the sky _._

Draco would swear he could see a shining golden thread in the space between them, except he knew it wasn't so. He had already tried to reach her and found nothing.

Although this seemed a lot like Hell, he knew was alive, a prisoner in his own mind. If only he could find the will to break free, he could return to his body. He was afraid of what he might find. The last thing he remembered was seeing a very human Hermione looking down upon his broken body, hearing her scream his name. Hermione was dead. She must be. So what did it matter if he was trapped here?

The toes of her trainers appeared on the edge of his vision. He knew what happened next. She would peel the orange, sit next to him and change his pathetic life.

Weary eyes lifted to her, ready for the pain to stab him in the gut again.

She had her empty hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Just what the hell are you doing, Draco Malfoy?" she demanded.

He blinked at her stupidly.

"I beg your pardon?" he blurted.

This wasn't how it had happened.

"Were you just going to sit here until you died?"

He looked around as if the rubble on the floor might give him answers.

"Sorry?" He must have misheard.

"Have you gone mad?" Under the irritation in her voice was a thread of real concern. "Or don't you know that all of this is in your mind?"

Big brown eyes were flicking back and forth, searching his face, looking for signs of insanity. She was bloody and bruised, her round, young face creased with exhaustion. This shade of the past looked exactly the same as she had that day so many years ago, but she wasn't the same person at all. If he looked closely, he could see the real Hermione layered underneath, and as his mind grasped what was happening in front of his face, he became aware of their dragon-bond yanking at his ribs.

A roaring filled his ears and he knew it was his dragon. This was no shade.

"Oh fuck," he gasped. "You're really here, aren't you?"

"Well, of course -" her response was muffled by his shirt as he yanked her to him.

Bloody hell, it was like coming up for air. Her scent wrapped around him like a soft blanket and he closed his eyes against the huge, bright thing climbing into his chest.

"Draco."

There were tears in her eyes as she pushed a bit of his hair from his face and whispered, "Hi."

"Hi."

He rested his forehead against hers.

"You came for me." His voice sounded like gravel for he was choking on a great lump of emotion lodged in his throat.

"Don't be daft," she swatted at him. "Of course I came for you."

She sighed and buried her face in his shoulder again. "I'm just glad it worked." Pushing away from him, she took a deep breath. "We have to get out of here."

"I don't know how," he said, still dazed and following her with his eyes as she turned to examine the dilapidated memory.

"What do you remember?" she demanded, suddenly all business.

Salazar, he loved that swotty tone of voice.

"I was dying I think," he began, struggling to bring forth details. "Then the castle started shaking and I was hit with something. It knocked me out."

"We found you under a pile of rubble." She swallowed hard. "I think I brought the castle down on top of you."

He shook his head. "No this was magic. It hit me like a wave. I felt it rip me away from my body."

"That was also probably me." Her voice was small and uncertain, filled with apology. "I got a bit carried away, I'm afraid."

He laughed and tugged her close. What did she have to be sorry for? This magnificent creature was unlike any witch in the history of magic.

"Did you kill her?" he asked.

A fierce flame lit behind her eyes and he could practically hear the rumbling of her dragon.

" _Yes_."

Pride welled up in his chest until he was choking on it. "That's my girl," he whispered and wrapped his hands around her waist. She turned a delicious shade of red and he had to clear his throat to continue. "The magic took me and brought me here."

"Interesting." He saw her retreat into her mind and he couldn't help but grin at her.

"This is just like my graveyard at Godric's Hollow," she announced. He shivered as he remembered that experience. It terrified him to think that she could have been trapped there. "I think I pulled you into my wild magic when I released it on Bellatrix."

He nodded. It sounded as good as any theory he had. "So you followed me the way I followed you."

Hermione shrugged, looking unconvinced. "I suppose so. All the evidence seems to support it."

"So then what's next?"

"You brought me out of it," she reminded him.

He frowned, trying to remember what he had done. "Yes, but how?"

"You reminded me of why I needed to live," she answered. "I needed a reason to return."

He turned that over in his mind for a moment. Bloody hell, he was an idiot.

"I can get us out," he said, feeling a smile split his face. "It's so obvious."

"Good because, I'm right out of magic," she admitted. "I don't think I can get us back on my own."

"We don't need magic."

After the eternity he had spent in this world of ghosts, struggling to escape, the way to freedom was suddenly so clear.

It was her. It had always been her.

"So what do we need?" she asked, clearly exasperated by his lack of response.

Instead of answering, he gathered her face between his hands - so different yet exactly the same - and pressed his lips to hers. He opened the channel between them, allowing all of his love for her to flow along their shining golden thread.

They were human again, twined around each other on a cold marble floor.

"You did it," she said, her voice heavy with pride.

He didn't correct her, instead, he fused their mouths together. The need for her was suddenly gnawing at him like a fever. He needed to know she was real, that they were both alive, that they had a future together. He banished their clothes, realizing they were both dirty and exhausted. It didn't matter. He wanted to press his fingers and lips and teeth into her skin and leave his mark behind so she could never leave him.

Her arms wrapped around him without a moment's hesitation. With every pull of her lips and caress from her fingers, she bound him to her. She didn't even know, he realized as his mouth skated across her skin, drawing moans from her throat. She didn't know how much he needed her. He pushed the feelings towards her even as he slid inside her welcoming heat.

"All of me," he told her, his lips brushing against hers. "You have every fucking piece of me."

"Draco." She said his name like a benediction and he felt the warmth of it spread through his body.

The gentle heat was followed by something else. It rushed towards him along their dragon-bond, hitting him square in the chest. Love. Respect. Pride. The feelings were hers, he realized, but they melted into his heart as if they were always meant to be a part of him. They were of one mind and body. He moved within her, listening to her voice and her breath, aching at the feeling of her heartbeat against his.

 _Mine_.

"Yours," she agreed as if he had said the word aloud.

Perhaps he had. All he knew was that he would never part from her. Whatever lay in the future, Draco would have Hermione. They held each other close as they were destroyed and made real again, their hearts beating in time.

* * *

"You fixed them?"

Neville was gazing into a hand mirror, making faces. He grimaced hugely, inspecting his teeth one way, then the other.

"I did." Hermione straightened the piles of newspapers as she spoke. "You asked me to; perhaps six years ago now."

He grunted as if perplexed. Jutting his jaw, he fingered a white scar on his chin and then grinned. "I look right dashing, don't I?"

Hermione huffed a laugh. "Quite."

Pansy felt a smile tug at her lips. She could just see him through the crack at the door hinge. It was so like him to simply shrug off the confusion and fear he must be feeling and accept it all good-naturedly. She wished she had a fraction of his fortitude. Her heart was knocking against her ribcage.

"I still can't believe you cut your hair."

Hermione chuckled. "I can't believe I didn't do it sooner."

Save for Draco, the hall outside his hospital room was deserted, thank Merlin. It was bad enough that her best friend was witnesses to her shameless behavior, much less random passerby or worse, a reporter, many of whom already hunted her down for photographs and interviews.

"You can go in," Draco said for the thousandth time.

"Fuck off." It didn't even have any heat behind it. Gods, she was losing her edge.

"You're hiding," he sang at her, making her back stiffen.

As if she was not aware of the horror of her behavior. It was undignified and beneath her, but she couldn't keep her heart from trying to gallop away. Neville was awake and aware. He looked healthy and happy. He looked like everything she had ever wanted, and she needed a fucking _minute_ dammit. The potted plant she held in her hand was suddenly heavy with intention, and she had to wipe her moist fingers on her skirt.

"Two months back from the dead and you're already on my last nerve."

A few minutes of subterfuge later and Hermione stepped out, pretending she hadn't seen Pansy hovering around the door for nearly an hour.

"The potion worked," Hermione said unnecessarily. Pansy fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You are a brewing genius."

"Whatever. Is he okay?"

"He's a bit weak, but he's physically well." The reluctance in her voice formed a fist around Pansy's heart.

"So memory loss, is it?" She tried to sound casual, but she knew her voice cracked.

"Yes."

"How much has he lost?"

Hermione didn't pull any punches, charging right through the last of her hope.

"He doesn't remember much of the last decade," she whispered. "And even that is mostly memories of Hogwarts."

The pain was acute. It doubled her over. She reached out and placed the potted plant she held on the nearby sill, using both arms to keep herself upright. Something like a whine escaped her mouth as she tried to breathe through the agony. Hermione bumped up against her, facing the other direction as if shielding her, twining their arms together. Neither of them had ever been comfortable with physical contact, but Hermione didn't hesitate, and Pansy clung to her without reservation. The last few months had changed everyone.

"I'm sorry, Pans."

Draco stood just behind her, a hand grasping her free shoulder.

"You did tell me not to get my hopes up," she chuckled without humor.

Bloody hell, she must be bleeding all over the floor. Why was there no blood to go with this aching wound?

"It might be for the best," Hermione murmured against her shoulder. "He has no lives on his conscience, no nightmares at night. He's happier than any of us could hope to be."

Pansy felt a fleeting moment of rabid jealousy for his forgetfulness before she quashed it. If he had been anyone else, she would have hated him. She would have hated the softness of peace at his jaw, the sparkle of joy in his eyes, the utter relief of forgetting; but even more she would have hated him for forgetting _her_.

But because it was Neville, Pansy merely sucked in a breath, the air feeling like glass in her lungs, and let the pain of loss pass through her body like a thousand shiny needles. It took only a moment for her to straighten, wipe the moisture from her cheek and magically refresh her eyeliner. There was a dull, empty spot behind her ribs that throbbed. She could live with it, she decided, if it meant Neville would smile.

"You haven't told him about Harry yet?"

A dark cloud moved over Hermione's face. "No."

"Good."

Pansy shoved the potted plant at Hermione, suddenly desperate to leave the magical hospital. The non-scent of magically sterilized equipment and the buzz of healing spells was too much for her. She wanted to find a dark hole and curl up inside.

"Give this to him, will you?"

Hermione blinked at the plant. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"He won't remember me."

"You don't know that," Draco argued.

Pansy laughed without humor. She felt like her skin was too small. Suddenly, all she wanted to was stretch her wings and fly away. "He won't remember me the way I was . . . with him."

"Even if that's true," Draco continued. "So what?"

"So?" What did they not understand? "To him, I'm Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin bitch who made his life hell. A cowardly, traitorous Pureblood who tried to sell the savior to the Dark Lord."

She hiccupped and hated herself for it. "I called him terrible names. I laughed while you made him miserable."

Draco winced.

"How is that different than before?" Hermione queried with exaggerated patience. "You were all of those things the first time around. He still fell in love with you."

It was true, she supposed. Except the first time had been an accident, a strange attraction that had led to something more. She'd had nothing to lose but her clothes. Now it felt like losing a piece of her soul.

"It's not the same, and you know it," she gritted out. "Don't pretend to be stupid, Granger."

"Do you love him or not?" Hermione demanded. After a moment of silence, perhaps realizing Pansy wouldn't say it out loud anyway, Hermione continued, "Because if you leave him like this you will never forgive yourself."

"You don't know anything about me," Pansy snarled.

Draco reached between the two women and plucked the plant from Hermione's hands, effectively stopping the all-out screaming match that was about to take place.

"Don't worry about it."

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him, aware that she was about to be played like a piano.

"What?" Hermione screeched, slow as usual. "You can't mean that."

"It's probably for the best," he said idly. "I can see it's too much for you, Pans. I'll give him the plant instead, and you can come back when you're less. . . sensitive."

There was a moment of utter silence. Pansy thought she saw Hermione reach for her wand. She wondered if the woman knew that Pansy could have Draco tied in a knot and crying before she would be able to get the length of wood out of its holster.

"You're an arsehole and I hate you."

The deadly quiet words made Draco grin before he pressed the pot back into her hands. He turned to leave, one arm slung around Hermione's shoulders as he steered her away.

"You'll regret it if you don't go," he called over her shoulder. "Thank me later."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Pansy stepped into the doorway. She knocked lightly and had to keep herself from reeling backward when he looked up with a smile. It flickered for a moment as he took her in, but didn't fade entirely. She shuffled forward, cursing her suddenly clumsy feet.

"Hullo," he greeted her, his eyes puzzled.

Even from the foot of his bed, she could see the faint, shimmering scars of the cruciatus marring his skin like a pale tattoo. Had his eyes always been so blue? Oh fuck, this was going to kill her.

"How are you feeling?" she rasped out.

He shrugged good-naturedly. "Well enough, I suppose."

Stupid question, Pansy.

"You probably don't remember me-" she began.

"You're Pansy Parkinson."

He looked wary as if she might leap across the room and strangle him, and in her past life, she might have done, had she been wearing more comfortable shoes.

"Right."

 _Explain yourself you daft bird._ When she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Her words had deserted her for the first time in her life.

"What have you got there?" His voice brought her out of her paralysis.

"Oh - ah," Pansy leaped forward and thrust the plant out to him. "It's a Wiggentree sapling."

His eyes lit up. "Blimey, that's rare!"

He sounded so young, she thought with an ache. "Yes, it took quite some doing to find a bowtruckle willing to give me a sprout."

"How did you manage that?" he asked.

He hadn't taken the plant from her yet. Probably thought it was a trap.

"I traded a large number of fairy eggs," she said, rolling her eyes at the memory. Those arsehole bowtruckles were demanding. "Which I got from a nasty little bridge troll for dragon scales."

He finally took the pot. His fingers brushed hers, sending a lightning bolt through her body. She stifled a gasp and retreated a step, even as her Dragon stirred to life.

He was clearly fascinated. "Where did you get dragon scales?"

Pansy cleared her throat, rubbing the tips of her tingling fingers, not sure how much she should tell him. Would he be afraid of her if he knew she could melt into the body of a killer reptile? "I have a private supplier."

He could tell she wasn't telling the whole truth.

"Why go to all that effort?" he wondered, then answered his own question. "Were you making Wiggenweld Potion?"

The query was innocent, but Pansy had to swallow past the lump in her throat. The memory of those desperate months when he lay insensate and dead to the world still squeezed her chest. She crossed her arms over her stomach.

"Were you the one who brewed my potion?" He was looking at her as if he could see through her skin to her bones. She wanted to run away. She wanted to crawl into his lap and cry.

"You were lost," Pansy muttered defensively. "I had to get creative."

Her answer puzzled him, and she realized he was wondering why she would make such an effort for him.

"Thank you," he said. It was genuine, of course, with no suspicion attached.

"You're welcome." What else did someone say to such sincere gratitude? Fucking Gryffindor, making her heart do somersaults.

After a moment he spoke up again. "We became friends then?"

The utter doubt in his voice pierced her. It was all so laughable. Neville Longbottom, one of the bravest men who ever lived was well out of any connection with Pansy, the youngest member of a family steeped in shame and cowardice. Instead of answering him, she plucked the pot from his hand, careful not to let their fingers touch and leaned forward to set it on his bedside table. The motion allowed her hair to shield her face, where she was sure her eyes were getting puffy from the strain of keeping her tears at bay.

"I'll just set this here."

As she righted herself, she caught sight of his large, calloused hands ghosting across the fall of her hair. With a short hitch in his breath, he took a hunk of it between his fingers. Pansy froze.

"Your hair," he whispered, brow furrowed. He studied the strands as if his life depended on it.

A bright pearl of hope unfurled in her heart. She realized she was gasping in anticipation.

"I knew you." His blue eyes met hers, and she shivered, the Dragon inside her shaking with readiness. She wanted to lean in and press her lips to his, to claim what before she had been so eager to dismiss. But even as he looked at her carefully, his eyes were still vacant of recognition she craved. "Didn't I? I mean, more than just from school."

Pansy swallowed and nodded. He released her hair with a blush, and she straightened quickly, the pot clattering to rest on his bedside table.

"I don't mean to paw at you," he apologized. "But I feel like I should I know you."

Oh, Merlin, this was destroying her. The Dragon wailed, vibrating through her mind and raising goosebumps on her skin. Neville looked horribly confused and bit distraught. She couldn't stand it.

"It wasn't for very long," she choked out, trying to ease him. "There's no reason you should remember."

"I'm sorry." He looked away. "I can see that I'm hurting you."

She was going to lose it. Right there, in the middle of St. Mungo's, she was going to break apart into a million, soggy pieces.

"I'll leave you to rest." Her voice sounded rusty. She forced out a short laugh, the movement sending spikes into her stomach, hurting as if it might kill her. "You should transplant that sapling as soon as you can," she babbled as she backed up. "They don't like pots."

She cleared her throat and turned to leave with a small wave, struggling to hide her face.

"You know," he called after her quietly. "If you like rare plants, I might have something for you."

Pansy stopped in her tracks. _Leave_ , she told herself. _Just leave_. But instead, she was turning, following the sound of his voice.

"It's a book," he said, his cheeks turning red. "Boring, I know, but you could borrow it. If you want."

"That would be nice." She was a bit confused, but she grabbed at this strange offering. She would take anything he wanted to give her.

"I don't have it here, so you'd have to come back, of course. To get the book."

She blinked.

"And to return it, I suppose." There was a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm rather stuck here at the moment."

"Why?" It would be better if he never remembered. He was all that was bright and good and clean. She wouldn't bring back the darkness for anything, not even her own salvation. "You don't owe me anything."

"You're different." He said it with such conviction after such a short acquaintance. "You seem like you've changed. Your face too." He gestured vaguely at his own countenance, obviously flustered, and then cleared his throat and shrugged. "If a beautiful woman says she knows me, who am I to argue?"

It was so like Neville to charge ahead through his own discomfort and lay plain all his thoughts and feelings, regardless of the risk to himself. If Pansy walked out, Neville would move forward with his life, do amazing things and remain unchanged and unsullied, unaware of how desperately she needed him. Perhaps he would never recover the memories he had lost.

But what if he did remember? What if one day he woke up and knew everything about her again, and realized she had just left him when he needed her? And he _did_ need her, she realized, whether he knew it or not.

The man she had come to know was something rare and precious, forged in war and pain. If she left him, he might lose that part of himself. She precisely remembered the look in his eyes before she stepped onto the Quidditch Pitch for her ritual. It was as if he had needed her just as much as she needed him. Perhaps she too had something to give.

"I'll come by tomorrow if that's okay?"

He grinned at her, and she found herself smiling back.

"One more thing." There was a small frown between his earnest brows "Did we spend time in the greenhouse? I don't remember much, but when I look at you, I see stacks of pots. And maybe a potting bench." His words cut off abruptly, and Pansy watched the flush spread over his cheeks as his eyes widened. "That can't be right," he whispered.

"The potting bench was my favorite part of that greenhouse," she said, as the blush trickled down his neck.

Hope expanded in her chest like a balloon. This time when she laughed, it felt less like it was killing her and more like it was bringing her back from the dead.


	26. To Kindle a Flame

Chapter Twenty-Six: To Kindle a Flame

 _One year later . . ._

Draco was just getting comfortable in the ridiculously capacious informal sitting room at Nott Manor when Theo came barreling through the doors, a panicked look on his face. He hurried over to Draco, an untied scrap of patterned silk hanging around his neck. Pansy raised interested eyebrows from her seat next to Neville, probably just as astonished by her friend's erratic movements and labored breathing.

Theo appeared to be having a panic attack.

"I've forgotten how to tie this thing!" he growled, yanking on the offending piece of fabric.

Draco folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, enjoying the dark cloud that flitted over Theo's face. "Why can't your husband help you?"

"Blaise is locked in the bathroom," he gritted, continuing with a muttered, "Been almost an hour. Probably making love to his own reflection."

"And you've suddenly forgotten how to maneuver a simple knot?"

"I could help," Neville offered, standing up. "But I'm not terribly good at that sort of thing."

Theo's eyes dropped to the messy knot at the base of Neville's throat and flinched.

"Forget it," Theo snarled. He ripped the tie from his neck and paced around a bit before sighing deeply and tossing it back around his shoulders. He gave a howl of frustration and went back to pacing.

"Help him, Draco," Pansy had hissed. "Before I hex him to sleep."

Theo practically skipped over, coming to stand in front of him again. Draco took a moment to absorb his normally quiet friend's obvious turmoil, just long enough to see the rage start around the edges of Theo's eyes before he acquiesced and took hold of the tie ends. It was difficult to get the thing balanced properly with Theo's incessant twitching.

"Stop fidgeting for fuck's sake."

Theo immediately stilled his nervous movements, brows coming together in a vicious frown.

"Watch your language," he snapped.

"They're not here yet," Draco muttered. "I'll swear as much as I fucking want."

"Behave yourself," Hermione whispered as she passed, setting down the last tray of chocolate biscuits on the table. The small breakfast of tea and scones originally planned had turned into a full brunch buffet under Pansy's watchful eye. It was a bit much, in Draco's opinion - how much could they possibly eat anyway? - but she had been adamant about the proper way to receive guests.

Draco took a moment to savor the scent of Hermione as she passed, knowing in a few hours he could bury his head in her shoulder-length curls and wrap her around his body. She took a seat in a large reading chair and propped a book on her crossed legs. The position hiked up the skirt on her thigh a few inches. The Dragon purred. Hermione looked up from her book and smirked at him, completely aware of the direction of his thoughts.

"Don't do that," Theo snapped, wrenching the completed tie from his grasp. "Don't eye fuck Hermione while you're standing so close to me. It's bloody disgusting."

"Watch your language," Draco reminded him.

Theo's growl could rival a dragon's and Draco took the opportunity to slide away, stopping behind Hermione's chair. Without setting her book down, she reached up and slid the fingers of one hand into his. Like a key fitting in a lock, he thought, or the last piece of a puzzle taking its place.

Blaise sauntered in a few moments later, hands in pockets and completely at ease. He was immaculately dressed, as usual. His beard was carefully trimmed to hide the worst of his scars, though his skin had fared far better than anyone had hoped. Draco was just glad the man seemed more resigned to the blow to his vanity.

He recalled several nights during his recovery listening to Blaise moan about his pain, his scars and the general unfairness of life. Did Theo still love him? What did he have to offer him now that his looks were gone? It had been horrible, but Hermione had insisted Draco be supportive. It was difficult to be sympathetic when he could have spent the time with her. Naked. Eventually, Theo had dragged him away and, it was assumed, proved he still thought Blaise was everything he needed.

"Has he had a meltdown yet this morning?" Blaise asked.

"Fuck off," Theo snarled, again yanking at his tie.

"What the fuck Theo?" Draco objected as he watched it unravel. "That was a perfect Windsor!"

Blaise chuckled at his husband's ire as he moved to stand next to him. "Forget the tie. You look great."

"I can't breathe," Theo wheezed, the silk slithering from his shoulder.

"This was your idea," Blaise mentioned, studying his immaculate manicure.

"Why are you so bloody calm?"

"What is there to be anxious about?" Blaise adjusted his cuffs. "I have no doubts about what is going to come through that Floo, or what it means for us and our future."

Draco blinked at the sincerity in his friend's voice and how it had been said so blatantly in front of an audience. It made his skin crawl a bit if he was being honest. Hermione sighed below him, a sloppy grin on her face. He suddenly had a list of disgustingly sweet things he was going to whisper in her ear later. In private. Like a normal wizard.

"I hate you," Theo muttered, his reddened cheeks exposing the lie.

The Floo roared to life. Everyone in the room snapped to attention. Theo straightened with a gasp, quickly tossing his tie to the table while Blaise settled his shoulders expectantly. The two men stood side by side, their hands just touching.

Ginny stepped out a moment later, Lily in tow and a baby with messy, black hair strapped to her breast.

Theo's knees buckled. "Bloody hell, Gin."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Theo," Pansy hissed acidly from the couch. "You're making a fool of yourself."

Blaise was frowning at Ginny, mouth open to verbally slice her to ribbons on behalf of his husband until Lily skipped up to him and tugged on his shirt front. With only a slight eye roll, he bent over and held still as she gave him a sloppy kiss.

"Hello Uncle Blaise," she sang.

She smacked her lips against the scarred side of his face, as she always did. It made the man melt into a puddle every time. Draco would have rolled his eyes, but he knew his turn was coming and he was reminded of some Muggle saying about stones in glass houses.

Theo received his kiss with as much grace as he could manage.

"Hello, love," he wheezed out, just able to pat Lily on the head before resuming his labored breathing.

"What, no hello for me?" Ginny laughed.

"How about stop clogging up my Floo, you harpy?" Theo growled.

Ginny laughed and stepped between the two men to give them a peck on the cheek each, knowing how much they hated public displays of affection. They both winced.

Lily had made the rounds and was now perched in Draco's arms, twining her arms around his neck. He had no idea why the little girl had taken to him, but he was never entirely comfortable with the attention. She had grown over the past year, but she was still a tiny thing and he was always afraid she might start to cry or get something sticky on his clothes.

"Why all the theatrics?" Ginny wondered as she sat on the arm of Hermione's chair.

"Theo's a bit nervous about the guests," Hermione told her.

"He's having a meltdown," Draco added unhelpfully.

"I am not," Theo snarled.

 _He is_ , Draco mouthed over Lily's head.

"Where are my brothers?" she asked, unstrapping the baby and handing him into Neville's waiting arms.

"They're late, as usual," Blaise muttered. "I'm sure they'll show up in time for dinner."

"Hello, Jamie," Neville cooed at the child and resumed his seat next to Pansy, who tried to look unaffected, but leaned closer and smiled all the same. The baby James gave a wide grin and started giggling, reaching for Pansy's nose.

The little boy looked just like his father, and it always brought an intense pang of loss whenever Draco saw him. He wondered how much was his own pain at losing Harry, and how much of it was Hermione's, transferred to him over their bond. He knew some of it was genuinely his, and probably more than he would ever admit out loud.

Hermione reached out to Ginny without realizing it, and the two women leaned against each other as they watched Neville play with James. The familiar buzz of grief traveled along their bond, followed by a deep and intense love. There was a palpable hole in their lives, and though James went a long way to filling it, Draco knew none of them would ever really be the same.

"Your brothers will be here eventually," Pansy observed to Ginny. "They always seem to show up when there's food involved."

"They're still tied up at Hogwarts," Neville confirmed. "Trying to get the last of the Astronomy Tower rebuilt today."

Shaking her head as if rousing from a dream, Ginny looked around at the gathered group with a frown. "You think it's a good idea to spring ourselves on them all at once?"

"They've met all of us before," Draco reminded her.

"Yes, but not everyone at the same time."

"What are you babbling about?" Blaise frowned at her.

"Might we overwhelm the poor things?" she asked. "It's a bit unnerving for normal people to be faced with so much . . . Slytherin-ness."

"That's not a word," Hermione said under her breath.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Pansy demanded.

"You know . . ." Ginny waved her hand vaguely.

"Feel free to leave, then," Theo growled.

"How would that help? I'm a Gryffindor."

Theo closed his eyes as if praying for patience.

"I quite like the level of Slytherin-ness," Neville offered, tripping over the made-up word.

Blaise, Theo, and Draco simultaneously threw him dirty looks. Didn't the man know what a sop he was?

"Stop being so nice, Neville," Hermione said. "You'll give them all a rash."

"And why all the anger pointed at me?" Ginny huffed. "if not for me and my efforts at the Post-War Recovery Association, we wouldn't even be here this morning."

She looked at them expectantly, disappointed when Blaise merely raised an eyebrow and Theo ignored her entirely in favor of staring at the hearth.

She sighed. "The proper response is, 'Thank you, Ginny.'"

They both parroted her under their breaths. A moment of peace passed, filled with the sounds of James babbling and Hermione turning the pages of her book. Then the flames went green and tumultuous again.

"We're here!" George cried triumphantly as he staggered into the room, Ron hot on his heels.

Several muttered objections and a collective release of breath followed their entry. Both men were covered in dirt and plaster, their worn boots muddy and leaving flakes of mortar all over the very expensive rug.

"What did we miss?" George asked gleefully, noticing their less-than-warm welcome.

"Are we late?" Ron asked, a crease between his brows.

Blaise plucked the wand out from between his husband's fingers before Theo could kill them both. Hermione sent a cleansing spell across the room, ridding them of at least most of the filth they'd brought. Oblivious to the gesture, they made a beeline for the buffet and started cramming tiny sandwiches in their mouths.

"Eat all of that food and I will end you," Blaise threatened.

"They should be here by now." Theo paced in a small circle. "What time is it?"

"Just past eleven," Hermione answered, flicking at a page in her book.

"Any moment now," Pansy answered in a sing-song voice as she waved her fingers at the baby in Neville's lap. Neville grinned at her delightedly as she realized what she was doing and recoiled, a look of horror dawning on her face.

As if on cue, the fireplace turned green and out stepped a plump matron with a kind face, trailed by the most adorable twin boys, both with dark hair and wide, brown eyes.

"Sorry we're late," the witch apologized. "But Sebastian decided to stick pudding in another child's hair."

"She was making faces at Sinclair," the boy pouted.

George barely muffled a laugh before Ron elbowed him again.

Some time later, the children were playing on the rug near the hearth, James fussing on his tummy while Lily and the boys played with wizard figurines. Draco slowed as he passed them on his way to get a drink, caught by something Lily said.

"My daddy died in the war too."

Both boys nodded sagely. Draco felt something squeeze around his heart.

"Do you miss him?" Sebastian asked.

"Yes," Lily answered. "But all my Uncles and Aunts help me when I feel sad."

"You have lots of Aunts and Uncles" Sinclair observed, sounding a bit jealous.

"They're yours too now, and I'm your cousin. We're family."

"But we're not related," Sebastian pointed out.

"That doesn't matter, silly," Lily said serenely. "Family is made by love, not blood."

Draco smiled a secret smile and left the children to play. Blaise and Theo were casually holding hands, murmuring to each other contentedly while they watched the children. Pansy sat in Neville's lap as he paged through an illustrated encyclopedia of rare magical plants, both of them completely absorbed. Ron was arguing gaily with Ginny as they passed baby James back and forth, making the child giggle. When Draco found Hermione, she was laughing at something George was saying, his hands making sweeping gestures in the air. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his nose in her hair.

Home. He was home.

* * *

The great marble memorial was erected near the Black Lake, newly restored. Hermione was deeply impressed with the work George and Ron had done so far in rebuilding the castle. It had been difficult at first to come back. Difficult didn't quite cover it. It had taken several failed attempts and an open line to Draco's dragon consciousness for Hermione to even step foot on the hill overlooking the castle. The second time had been easier, and every time after that.

Now she watched as Draco studied the big block of dark granite. He traced the name of his mother, his shoulders heavy. Hermione stayed back, still unable to really look at the thing, knowing her eyes would find too many familiar names, and one in particular. Seeing Harry's name carved in marble made his absence more real, and she thought it might just tear her apart.

After a moment, he turned away they started a slow walk around the lake, enjoying the sunshine.

"Why the Great Hall?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.

She could see the spires of the castle just over the rise, and the sight of it reminded her of the question she'd been meaning to ask him.

"Hmm?" he pretended not have heard her.

"When I found you buried in your subconscious, you were in the Great Hall right after the battle. I've wondered why you chose that place."

Draco sighed. "Why would you wonder about that?"

"The graveyard was significant for me," she explained. "Dealing with the news of Harry's failing health. It made sense to find myself in a place we had been together at an important part of our lives. But I don't understand the Great Hall for you."

"It was significant for me."

He was being deliberately obtuse and she could tell by the amusement around his mouth that he knew it bothered her.

"Yes, but why?" she asked with exaggerated patience.

"Because of you."

"Ugh Draco!" she smacked his arm and he winced, chuckling. The sound was still a bit of a novelty and it did things to her insides. She wondered if that would ever change. Gentle mirth tickled along their bond, making her smile at him in spite of her frustration.

"You saved me," he answered.

Hermione frowned, struggling to recall at what point she had saved his life. She couldn't remember seeing him at all during the heat of the battle. Deep in thought, she hadn't realized she had stopped walking until he was standing in front of her.

"They were coming for us," he continued as if she had any idea what he was talking about. She waited for him to elaborate. "I could tell by the looks they were sending our way. It was only a matter of time before we were tied up with an _incarcerous_ and shipped off to Azkaban."

She hadn't realized, but looking back she knew he was probably right. They had been the enemy after all and had probably deserved to be locked up. The thought of Draco and Narcissa in Azkaban gave Hermione a chill. Draco saw her shudder and moved closer, his hands bracketing her waist.

"Then you wandered over, dazed and holding fruit." He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Hermione felt her heart stutter a bit. "I thought you were going to kill us for a moment."

She scoffed. "You did not."

"You sat next to me, touching me right here." He rubbed his shoulder. "As if I wasn't filth, giving us your stamp of approval, however unintentional. They didn't dare harm us after that. You saved us from those people, but you also changed me in that moment - made me better just with just your voice and your eyes."

He smiled at her softly.

"I didn't know," she began, at a loss for words. The idea that Draco had somehow been connected to her through all of those years apart, had held that moment close to his heart . . . well, it was staggering. Knowing him the way she did now, it made perfect sense that a gesture on her part made out of exhaustion would mean so much more to him.

Instead of talking it out, as was her instinct, Hermione reached up on her toes and kissed him briefly. She opened the channel between them and felt him shiver. They parted and merely looked at one another for a moment before Draco's eyes flickered away, caught by something over her shoulder and he did a double take.

"What the hell is that?"

The moment was broken. Hermione fought the urge to sigh and turned in his arms to find what he was seeing.

"It's a bird," Hermione laughed. "Made of . . . silk?"

The thing flapped toward them over a nearby pile of rubble, it's wings in tatters. Something glittery and green was nestled between its black beak. It was one of the oddest things Hermione had ever seen, and she wondered if she should draw her wand, her instincts kicking into overdrive. It didn't look dangerous, only strange.

Draco's hands dropped from her waist as he focused on the disturbing thing.

"I know that jewel," he murmured.

He crept forward as if he might scare the thing. It flapped agitatedly and hopped away.

"You recognize the jewel?" Hermione repeated.

He cursed and started to climb into the debris.

"It was my mum's," he called back to her. "She always wore the damn thing."

Hermione reeled back. How was that possible?

He stopped when he had gotten only a few feet away, and turned back to her, his eyes wide. "It's made of her cloak."

A chill stole over Hermione. "Where did it come from?"

Draco didn't answer, but Hermione could see the remains of a classroom just behind the pile of rubble he was approaching. Had it been trapped in the castle this whole time? He cast a quick _revelio_ spell and cursed.

"It's supposed to find me," he muttered.

"Well catch it already!" she cried, unsure of what else to do.

"You think she was sending me a message?" he asked, his voice tight.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Why would she do that?"

The sadness in his eyes filtered away and he focused on her sharply. A spark of excitement shot directly into her bones, fed to her by his expression and the connection between them.

"What?" she demanded.

"It's a map," he answered, scrambling up the stones.

"What's a map?"

"The jewel," he said impatiently, snapping his fingers at the bird as if the motion would force it to come forward. "The jewel is a map."

"A map to what?"

"A Horcrux."

He said the word casually as if the word didn't represent one of the worst inventions to ever exist in the magical world. Dread settled in her stomach, followed quickly by a fierce anticipation.

"She hid it when it became clear that Bellatrix was going to destroy the world," Draco explained. "So if we finally managed to kill her, some dark wizard couldn't just bring her right back."

Narcissa Malfoy had been a crafty witch, Hermione thought. She sent a prayer of gratitude into the universe, thankful that the beautiful witch had had the foresight to take such precautions. Draco finally managed to snatch the glittering rock from the beak of the ragged bird, which immediately disintegrated into scraps floating away on the breeze.

"Thanks, Mum," he murmured, standing in one place for a moment before beginning his descent.

He stepped through the rubble carefully, a look of supreme irritation on his face as his shoes collected more and more mud. A yelp escaped Hermione as Draco tossed the sparkling thing at her in favor of casting a cleansing spell. Once she'd got a proper hold on it, she raised it above her head so the light could catch it. The sun refracted through the facets, exposing the minute runes carved within the stone.

"It's encoded," she told him.

"Of course it is," he scoffed coming up behind her. "Probably leads to a few dead ends, with several puzzles along the way."

"Fascinating." Her heart was pounding. She ached to dissect the magic piece by piece and lay the path bare. She wanted to slide into her scales and take to the sky, track down the evil bit of magic and destroy it.

"You're not going anywhere without me." Draco's voice interrupted her daydream, correctly interpreting the direction of her thoughts. He plucked the green gem from her fingers and went down on one knee before her. She blinked at him, completely perplexed.

"Hermione?" he asked solemnly, a spark of mischief in his eyes and the jewel held out in his hand. "Will you go horcrux hunting with me?"

She felt the laugh come all the way from her toes and echo through the ruins. Draco smothered it with a kiss. He didn't really need an answer, after all. Wherever he went, she would follow; whatever Hermione desired, Draco would provide. It was simply the way of things.

They would need provisions for their journey. Food. Clothes. A tent. And books. So many books. Her heart was racing with anticipation.

Draco broke away with a petulant frown.

"You're making a list in your head, aren't you?"

Hermione denied it too quickly, causing Draco to roll his eyes.

"Well it's a lot more involved than you know," she told him, aware that her nose had lifted defensively in the air. "Only one of us has actually been on a quest to find a Horcrux."

Draco grunted. "You don't need to pack a thing except for your teeth."

Hermione scowled at him.

"Don't overthink it, Granger." he said, backing away from her, his eyebrow lifted arrogantly.

Just as she opened her mouth to deliver a scathing set down, he slid into his dragon form, pearly scales glistening in the sun. By the Gods he was beautiful. He knew it, too. She glared at him for a moment as he preened. Those grey eyes were shining as he nuzzled under her hand, looking for affection.

 _Fly_.

The impression of wings and air and sunlight caressed her mind, and she felt her Dragon rise up impatiently. With a smug look, Draco galloped away, his wings driving the wind into the nearby trees. She knew he had just manipulated her and she managed to stand for a full minute, toe-tapping, as he swooped above her. The need to join him soon overrode her stubborn desire to make him wait, and a moment later they were soaring through the sky side by side.

* * *

 _A/N: So much love._


End file.
